The Blonde
by SquirrelWho
Summary: When a loud crash brings Sherlock into the living room he finds a blond woman lying on what remains of his side table. She seems to have appeared out of no where, more than that, she doesn't exist. Could his brother be right? Does she pose a danger to him? And why is John lying about her? Roselock.
1. Rose

This is my first crossover. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

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Rose paced the empty conference room. There was something…something…strange…something wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The answer was there. She could almost see it like something out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head it was gone. Vanishing like smoke in a windstorm. She growled in frustration and kicked the table leg. Pain seared through her foot, but she ignored it, slamming her fist onto the table top, almost toppling her coffee cup in the process.

She looked at the plans, scattered across the table. James would know. He would've looked at them, given her his smile…the one that said _I'm very clever._ Then he would've asked, _You see it, don't you Rose? _And she would've looked and…She shoved the plans off the table angrily.

James wasn't there. He was gone. Forever. _What the hell is wrong with me? _Her eyes misted over making the room swim. He'd been gone for eight months. EIGHT! That was a bit more than half the time he'd been alive. If she didn't count the time he was a hand.

_I only have one life. I could spend it with you, Rose Tyler, if you want. _Only, she didn't realize that his entire life would amount to one year. One. She forced the memories away. She couldn't think about that. Couldn't feel sorry for herself. Not with so much at stake. She took a deep breath and pulled herself together, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her blue shirt.

She walked around the table and began gathering the plans from the floor. People were vanishing. Six people from five different buildings. There was something going on. Someone or something was taking them, but there were no clues at any of the scenes. No toppled furniture, blood, break in, nothing to indicate anything happened. The only things missing were the people who lived there. At least, that's what the reports said. She hadn't actually been to any of the scenes because she'd been stuck in the office ever since she lost it two weeks after James died.

As she gathered the plans she noticed a folded paper had found its way under the table. She sat the plans on the table and reached underneath to grab the paper…no not a paper…a map. She unfolded the map. The whole of London spread out before her. There were big, red x-es through three buildings. She recognized the addresses from the plans.

Pete headed up the field investigation. He must have marked some of the buildings down on the map. She walked over to the cabinet that stored the office supplies. After retrieving a red pen she walked back to the conference table and marked off the other two buildings…wait. She saw it. A pattern. Although the buildings were on different streets, a couple on this street, a couple on another, they were all gathered around one central location. A location she recognized as the…

Her pocket buzzed. Who would be calling her at…she glanced at the clock…1 a.m.? She pulled out her phone and looked at the number. Pete. Why was her dad calling her this late? She hit the talk button.

"Dad?"

"Are you at the office?"

Was he calling to check up on her? She knew her parents were worried about the amount of time she spent working, mainly her mum thought she ought to have a boyfriend so she could get on with her life.

"Why?"

"There's been another one." He didn't have to say what. She knew he was talking about the disappearances. "I'm at-"

"Baker Street, yeah?" she said, looking at the map.

"How did you know?"

"All the disappearances are centered around the rift. I might have caught it before, but the rift is in a different place in the other universe."

"It makes sense that they have something to do with the rift."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a…well, it's sort of like a…a crack."

"A crack?"

"It's in the wall, behind the sofa."

"A crack in the wall?"

"It's glowing. I need you to come down here."

He wanted her in the field? She wasn't going to make the mistake of pointing out that she'd been cut off from field duty. Hell, he should know. He was the one who cut her off.

"What's the address?" she asked.

"221 Baker Street," he replied.

She almost thought he was joking…almost. Only, Pete didn't joke about things like that, not with people's lives hanging in the balance.

"I'm on my way."

She stuffed her mobile back in her pocket then checked the other side to make sure she had the sonic before heading into the hall. 221 Baker Street. She couldn't help smiling because she could imagine the Doctor grabbing her hand and running to the car. _Come Watson the game's afoot. _

She stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the parking garage. She spent as much time as she could working to try to keep her mind off of them. James and the Doctor. Two different people who weren't different at all. Only, the thoughts seeped through. Not so much anymore, but it still hurt.

Jackie thought it was because she hadn't moved on, but how could she? The Doctor had changed her, saved her. That's how she felt. He'd saved her from a dull, dreary, normal life and given her the stars. Then he left. She spent years finding her way back to him and he just dumped her off and walked away without saying goodbye.

To say she was hurt was like saying a broken ankle feels like a pinch. She felt like he ripped her heart out and took it with him that day on the beach. She knew why he did it, not right away, it took a while for her emotions to level out enough for her to see why. He did it for the same reason he did anything, because he thought he was saving her. He wanted her to have a normal, human life with James. Only, she didn't want a normal, human life. She had that for nineteen years. Then she met the Doctor. How could she go back to that after being with him?

As she pulled out of the parking garage she wondered what sort of crack she was about to find at the home of one of the Doctor's favorite fictional characters.

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I don't own the rights to Doctor Who or Sherlock.

Thank you to all my wonderful readers! Reviews are welcome and appreciated. :)


	2. The Boys

John stepped out of his room sleepily. It was nearly ten in the morning, but Sherlock kept him up half the night looking for his cigarettes, something he did when he was board and he was board when he wasn't working a case. Sherlock finally turned in around four.

He poured himself a cuppa and took a long drink. Hopefully a case would come up soon. Otherwise his flatmate was going to drive him mad. Another drink and that's when he noticed the quiet. Too quiet. The living room was empty as was the kitchen. He couldn't still be sleeping, could he?

John glanced at Sherlock's open door. He knew he should just sit down at the table and finish his tea, but curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to the doorway.

Sherlock was sitting in the middle of his bed in the same clothes he'd been wearing last night, including the blue house coat. He hadn't slept. He didn't seem to have noticed John, which happened quite often and was more than a little annoying.

"Morning," John said, hoping to get his flatmate's attention.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked without glancing up.

He was reading something on…

"Is that my laptop?"

"I believe so. Yes."

John crossed the room.

"Why aren't you using yours and don't give me that excuse that it's in your room because you're in your room."

He closed his laptop, much to Sherlock's annoyance, and picked it up.

"Don't blame me. Mrs. Hudson gave it to me."

"Mrs. Hudson gave you my laptop?"

"Yes."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because he called me in and asked me to bring it to him," Mrs. Hudson said.

John turned to see their landlady who Sherlock liked to refer to as their housekeeper, standing in the doorway.

"You asked her to bring it to you?" John asked, turning back to Sherlock.

"He said you wouldn't mind," Mrs. Hudson continued.

"He did, did he?" John asked, eyeing Sherlock.

"I couldn't find mine."

"You…" John walked over to the dresser and picked up the very visible laptop. "…couldn't find yours?"

"It was on the other side of the room."

John sighed and handed Sherlock's laptop over. His flatmate opened it and began typing.

"Look at the mess you've made," Mrs. Hudson chastised from the kitchen.

John was pretty sure she was referring to one of Sherlock's experiments on the table.

"Just clean it up," Sherlock said without taking his eyes from the screen.

"I'm not your housekeeper."

"What are you doing anyway?" John asked.

"Trying to find a case, but there's nothing on the website."

"Nothing?"

"Missing cat, cheating spouse, stolen wallet, Nothing."

"Maybe the stolen wallet-"

"I don't leave the house unless it's a seven and these are all threes, at best."

He was getting in one of his moods. John decided the best course of action was a hasty retreat.

"I've got to do a shopping run."

"Shopping?"

"For food. We do need to eat or, at least, I need to eat."

"Pick me up a pack," Sherlock called as John crossed the kitchen, noting that Mrs. Hudson was gone.

A quick shower and then a trip to the store and he was not going to be returning with a pack of cigarettes no matter what kind of mood his flatmate was in. Hopefully a case would crop up and Sherlock would forget about his habit.

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Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my wonderful readers! Reviews are always welcome. :)


	3. Jumping Through Reality

Rose walked up to the flat. 221 Baker Street. Two soldiers stood outside keeping any onlookers away. The soldier on the left stepped toward her. She recognized him from a previous assignment. Aaron Tagart.

"Director Tyler is waiting inside," Aaron said.

"Thanks," she replied before stepping through the door.

"Up the stairs," he called when she hesitated, looking around.

She walked up the stairs and greeted another soldier before stepping through the open door of 221B. So, this is the famous flat? She glanced around as she crossed the room. It looked like an ordinary flat. She'd expected…a tour guide? Maybe. Wax figures? Something that indicated that this was more than just another flat. Either the books didn't take off there or they didn't exist.

"Over here," Pete called.

He was standing at the far end if the room. The glowing crack was above the sofa. It was at least two feet wide. There was a strange gold light emanating from it.

"Has it gotten any bigger?" she asked.

"Not since we've been here." Pete said, "What is it?"

"Not sure yet," Rose dug the sonic out of her pocket. "But this should tell us."

She pointed the screwdriver at the crack and pushed the button. It emitted the familiar warble, but at that moment the crack began to slowly open.

"That's not good," she said, taking a step back.

"What did you do?" Pete demanded.

"Nothing I…" she looked at the reading. It was bad. Really bad.

"What is it?"

That couldn't be right.

"It's…it can't be."

"What?"

Pete leaned over her shoulder, but she knew he wouldn't understand the readings even if he saw them. She only understood them because she'd seen the Doctor use it so often and James had explained some of the readings to her.

"It's a crack…in reality."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It's a crack in the universe."

"Can you close it?"

It was like the crack that the TARDIS fell through when she landed on the parallel world with Mickey and the Doctor. Like the one the Doctor brought her back through when he left her on that beach. Only it was different. He sealed those cracks with the TARDIS by using the energy of the Time Vortex, but she didn't have a TARDIS. James was going to grow one, but he died before he could.

"I…" she trailed off, watching the crack slowly open.

If it opened all the way it could tear a hole in the universe. It could kill all of them. There had to be a way to close it. If she pointed the sonic at it again that might work, but then it might rip it open. What would the Doctor do? He'd use the TARDIS, but she didn't have one. What else could she use? Wait. She'd been in the Time Vortex. Hell, she'd had the energy of the Time Vortex inside her head. That's how she saved that Dalek. It was like background radiation.

"It's getting bigger," Pete warned.

It had only been open a few inches when she got there, but now it was…the sofa vanished. There was only one option. She wasn't sure if it would work, but at least she wouldn't be around to see it fail if it did.

"I can close it," she said.

"With the sonic?"

"No."

She faced her dad and pulled him into a hug.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.

She pulled back and looked into his eyes.

"I love you. Tell mum and Tony I love them too."

"Rose, what are you-"

She turned around, hoping he wouldn't figure out what she was doing until it was too late. If he stopped her they'd die. All of them. She gripped the sonic tightly and jumped into the crack.

She had to squeeze her eyes shut because the light was too bright. There was a tug and then she felt as if her insides were being twisted. It didn't hurt, but it felt…very strange. Then she was falling, not far, but she landed, hard, on something wooden. It broke under her weight.

"John? Is that you?" a man called.

She opened her eyes, but the room shimmered as if she was looking through a heat wave. She wasn't sure if it was from traveling through the crack or if she hit her head when she fell. Footsteps brought her attention to the right, but she couldn't make out much more than a fuzzy shape. Blue. The shape was wearing something blue. Pete? No, her dad hadn't been wearing blue.

"How…?" the man asked, trailing off as if he was trying to come up with the answer himself. Reminiscent of the Doctor, but he couldn't be…could he?

She shook her head, hoping to clear it. The room came into focus slowly. She sat up. Side table. That's what she landed on. Now nothing more than firewood.

"How…?"

The man was standing a few feet from her, looking at her as if he wasn't sure what to make of her. _I did just land in his living room and smash his side table. _She gazed around the room. It was eerily similar to the flat she just…left? Was that the right word? For lack of a better one left would do.

"How…?" the man asked again.

He was looking around the room now with a bit of pacing thrown in. She knew he was trying to figure out how she got there. No concern over the side table. No concern for her. Just _how_. One track mind.

"I could use a little help," she said.

He didn't even glance at her. He was still trying to work out the how. Probably hadn't heard her. She'd dealt with that before. When the Doctor tried to work something out a bomb could go off and he'd have no idea.

"Where…?" he asked, still pacing.

"221B Baker Street?" she asked.

He stopped. Mid-pace. His eyes snapped to her. His gaze was intense, seeming to calculate every aspect of her.

"Yes."

"Mind giving me a bit of help?"

He stood there a moment and she wasn't sure if he was going to help her or not. Then he closed the distance between them and reached his hand out. There was another moment of hesitation, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to touch her, then he took her hand and helped her up. She swayed, grabbing the back of his arm for support. He stiffened, again reminding her of the Doctor.

He wasn't, of course. The Doctor would've recognized her and this bloke was…well, he could've regenerated. He was a bit lanky, like the Doctor, but he had pale skin and dark, wavy hair and his eyes. She gazed into his eyes. Eyes she thought were blue, but on closer inspection they were…green? No. Hazel? Not hardly. They were blue like the sky, but laced with gold.

He shifted and she could almost feel his discomfort. No, he wasn't the Doctor. His eyes were similar, in a way, haunted and calculating, but they weren't the same.

"You…" his voice came out low. He cleared his throat.

At that moment the door opened and another man entered the flat. He was a bit shorter with sandy hair. They both turned toward the sound.

"What are you…?" the other man asked.

He glanced between them and then at the broken side table.

"John. Thank God," the man said.

"Who's this?" John asked.

Rose was about to introduce herself, but she was cut off before she could start.

"She landed on the side table."

"She…what?" John crossed the room quickly, as quickly as someone with a slight limp can. He started checking her over. Now this one was reminding her of the Doctor. _Stop. You have to stop. _"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She let him feel her head. "Really. I'm fine."

"What did you do?" John snapped, eyeing the other man.

"What did I do?"

He seemed ruffled, indignant.

"Yes," John insisted.

"I didn't do anything."

"Then how did this…" He indicated the broken side table. "…happen?"

"She landed on it."

John glanced from the man to the side table as if he was trying to work out exactly how that happened.

"And how did she come to land on the side table?"

"She…" The man glanced from Rose to the side table. "…she…here." He practically shoved her at John. "Sit her on the sofa."

She was just about fed up with his nonsense. She thought about giving him a Jackie Tyler slap then she swayed. Maybe later.

"Whoa," John said, putting his arm around her to steady her. "I think Sherlock's right. You should sit down."

"Sherlock?" she asked, almost laughing.

"Something funny?" the man asked.

He was sitting in the chair slumped back with his legs crossed. His head resting on his hand as he eyed her with that calculating stare.

"What's your last name then? Holmes?" she laughed.

It was a bit funny…no more strange than funny, but she couldn't help laughing.

"Yes," he replied, flatly.

She felt a giggle form in her throat. She was about to lose it and not in a good way, but she held back.

"And you must be Dr. Watson I presume?" she asked, slamming her lips together to keep from laughing.

"Um…y-yes. John Watson and I am a doctor, an army doctor."

That was it. The last straw. She snorted and then started laughing and not light laughter either. The grab your sides, double over laughter. Tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn't help it, couldn't stop it. It wasn't just jumping through a timey wimey crack and landing in a flat occupied by two fictional characters, characters who weren't fictional on this parallel world. It was everything. The Doctor, losing James, losing the rest of her family, because she'd jumped through a crack, a crack that was now gone and she had no way to get back to them. It was all of that and more. If she hadn't been laughing she was sure she'd be crying, but Rose Tyler wasn't the nineteen year old shop girl who traveled with the Doctor. That girl had been gone for a long time.

"Are you alright?" John asked, which only made her laugh harder.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! Reviews are welcome and appreciated. :)


	4. John's Sister

Sherlock watched the blonde…brunette actually, but she'd bleached her hair. Many times. He barely noticed John's concern. That didn't matter. What mattered were the things he didn't know.

Usually…no…most of the time…no…all the time with a few exceptions, very few, he could tell everything about someone just by observing, but this woman, this blonde was a mystery.

There were things he could tell. Status. Posh. Background. Working class. Daily Life. Workaholic. No pets. She'd lost someone close to her, but he couldn't tell who. Brother? Parent? Significant other? He could tell that she worked, too much, but he wasn't sure what she did for a living. She was from money. He could tell that from her clothes, but her shoes…trainers with the soles wore down. There was a mobile in one pocket and something else in the other. Thin lamp? Tool of some sort?

Then there was the whole mystery of where she came from, how she got in their flat, how she landed on the side table. Because she _did_ land on the side table. As if she had been thrown, but there was no one else in the flat. So, if she was thrown…who threw her? The front door wasn't her point of entry. He would've heard it or, at least, he thought he would have. The windows were all closed and nothing was disturbed near them. He was sure he would've heard her break in. The only other conclusion was that she appeared in the room landing on the side table, but that couldn't be the case. Case! She was a case. Not exactly a case, but a mystery nonetheless.

The door opened. He glanced at Mrs. Hudson as she walked in the room. "Boys," she said, insistently. "What's all the…oh, who's this then? A client?"

The blonde's laughter had almost completely subsided. John's hand was on her shoulder, gazing at her in concerned. Sherlock took in the what's-going-on-here-then look Mrs. Hudson wore. So, she hadn't seen the blonde, which validated his belief that the girl hadn't come up the stairs.

"This is…" Sherlock began and then realized he didn't know the blonde's name. Not that he concerned himself with names, but he couldn't introduce her as _the blonde_.

"Rose," the blonde said. "I'm Rose Tyler-"

"This is Rose," Sherlock cut in.

"Rose?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

She wanted to know why the blonde was there, which was something he wanted to know as well, but Mrs. Hudson was asking for a different reason. She wanted to know the blonde's relationship to them, especially with the way John was treating her, hand on shoulder, a bit more intimate than someone he just met. Of course they had just met her, but if Mrs. Hudson found out about the broken side table she'd probably want to do something that _ordinary_ people did like send her to the doctor, but he couldn't let the blonde leave until he sorted who she was, how she got there. He had to give her a reason to be there and one that wouldn't keep Mrs. Hudson lurking in their flat while he worked out what was going on.

"She's John's sister," he decided.

"His sister?" Rose asked.

"My sister?" John inquired at the same time, eyeing him.

_Don't be an idiot, _Sherlock thought eyeing John back.

"Oh, right my…um…my sister. Rose," John said.

"I thought your sister's name was Harriet?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"This is his other sister," Sherlock said.

"I didn't know you had two sisters."

"Neither did I," John said.

Mrs. Hudson gave John a confused look while Sherlock shot him a glare and that's when the consulting detective realized his mistake. Rose's last name was Tyler and John's was Watson. That could be explained through marriage, but she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"She was adopted, been looking for him for years, finally tracked him down through his military records. Isn't that right?" Sherlock glanced at Rose who seemed to have fully recovered from her bought of laughter. He wasn't sure if she'd catch on, most people were generally slo… She smiled knowingly.

"Oh, yes. If he hadn't been in the military I might've gone on looking for years before I found him," she said.

"You found him through his military records?" Mrs. Hudson asked, a bit skeptically.

She could be sharp when she wanted to and that wasn't a good thing at the moment. Sherlock started to formulate a believable response, but the blond was faster.

"I have this friend. Aaron. He works in one of the records offices. When I found out John had been in the service I asked Aaron to look him up. Technically, he wasn't supposed to, but you wouldn't believe all the paperwork I had to fill out. Practically wanted my blood and you know how slow the government can be," she explained then a very believable look of having said something she shouldn't have crossed her features. "You won't tell anyone will you? About Aaron I mean, technically he wasn't supposed to give me John's address and all, but I'd been looking for him for so long."

She was quick. Not entirely ordinary. Did she make Aaron up or was he real? Did she know someone named Aaron who worked in a government records office? Did she work in a government office?

"Of course I won't dear," Mrs. Hudson said, giving her that motherly look. "Now I can see it."

"See what?" John asked.

"The resemblance."

Sherlock had to press the side of his hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. Ordinary people always see what they're told to see. Introduce them to someone and tell them they're related and they start to see similarities where there aren't any.

"The…" John looked at Rose "…no, I don't see it."

"You see it don't you Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock coughed to keep himself from laughing and then pulled himself together before answering.

"Bit around the mouth and the nose," he said, gesturing toward them.

"Exactly. I'll leave you to it then, but I'll be back in a bit with some cakes and tea, if you want."

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Rose replied.

"Yes. Tea. Later," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave.

The door closed and Rose eyed him.

"Rude," she chided.

"Rude? Me?" He might've been a bit short, but he wasn't…

"Rude," she repeated.

He turned to his friend.

"John am I…?"

"Yes, very," John said.

Niceties weren't something he thought about. There wasn't time to think about that with everything else going on. Besides, that was something he left to people like…well, like John and Mrs. Hudson.

"So, you're Sherlock Holmes and you're…" Rose turned to John. "Dr. Watson?"

"Yes, technically, but everyone calls me John not Dr. Watson."

"We've already established this," Sherlock said, waving his hand impatiently. He wanted to get on to other things…fill in all those blanks he was drawing when he looked at her.

"Being rude again," she said, but she was smiling in a…strange sort of way. "Which makes you a detective."

Detective. Yes. He caught her eye. No, not detective…

"Consulting detective," he corrected.

His lips began to curve up, returning that smile she was giving him. _Wait. What the hell am I doing? _He forced the smile away. He didn't indulge in that sort of behavior.

"Consulting. That's right because you don't actually work for anyone you've just decided you're a detective."

"Decided I'm a…I did not _decide_ I was a detective. I am a detective."

"You took classes then?"

"Classes?"

"You were taught to be a detective?"

"No, I-"

"Decided you were a detective."

"I…" Oh she was infuriating. How dare she…wait…she was giving him that smile again.

"I think what Sherlock is trying to say is-" John began.

"And what are you then?" he asked, cutting his flatmate off.

"I'm…hold on aren't you supposed to be this brilliant detective?"

"Brilliant detective?" John asked.

Brilliant. Yes. That was more like it. He smiled, but allowed it this time because she was right. He was brilliant. No, more than brilliant, but that would do.

"I thought Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be able to tell everything about someone just by looking at them."

"Observing," he corrected.

"He's actually very good at it," John added.

"Very good," Sherlock scoffed. "I specifically recall you saying _astounding_, at one time."

"Okay then, observe. What do I do for a living?"

"You…" Shirt. Two hundred pounds. Pants. Three hundred. Trainers. Thirty, no forty. Earrings. Ten. Diamond ring. Index finger. Twelve hundred. Not married. Not engaged. Kept? Maybe. No, she wouldn't be wearing the trainers. Mobile, hidden. What is that thing in her other pocket? Necklace. Gold chain. No not gold. It's…what is it? She touched it. She'd done that a few times, absentmindedly. The necklace was important, but he couldn't see what was hanging from it because it was concealed under her shirt.

He glanced at John who was giving him a confused look. No help there then.

"Can I see your phone?"

She was smiling. A bit smug. Well, he would soon fix that. What was he…? She pulled her mobile out. Oh, yes, the phone. He took it. New. Scuff marks on the back a small scratch on the front. Not new. A couple months old at least, but it. He touched the screen. It was…the technology was newer than anything he'd seen. Not even Mycroft had a phone like this. He read through her contacts. Mum. Dad. Tony. James. Torchwood. Torchwood? He'd never heard of it. Lots of calls from Torchwood and to Torchwood. That must be where she worked, but he had no idea what it was, which didn't give him a clue as to what she did. James. The name was there, but no calls to or from him. An ex? Perhaps. The Doctor. Her doctor? Why would she save the name The Doctor? No calls to or from this doctor either. No Aaron.

He handed her phone back.

"So?"

"I…don't know," Sherlock admitted.

"Sorry, what?" John asked as if he couldn't believe what he heard.

"You heard me, John," he snapped.

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't know what she does for a living," Sherlock scowled. He didn't like not knowing. He liked figuring things out. That's what he did. He glanced at her. She was smiling again, which infuriated him. "I'll tell you what I do know," he said, leaning forward.

"Go on then," she said.

"You grew up poor. Working class poor. Cardiff I'd say. You grew up poor, but you're not poor now. In fact you came into…no, your parents came into quite a bit of money, but you haven't been wealthy for very long. I'd say a few years. You work too much, which worries your mother, but you have to work because it's the only thing that keeps you from thinking about James."

"James?" she asked, toying with the necklace. Whatever hung from it was still hidden, but it had to be a ring. Married? No.

He could hear the loss in her voice. He knew he should stop there, but smugness won out. "You two weren't married, but you were engaged. You lost him. I'm guessing he died, rather suddenly. Your mother wants you to move on, but you haven't. Instead, you poured yourself into work, sleeping only a few hours a night."

He sat back, a satisfied smile on his face, waiting for the inevitable shocked awe.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! Reviews are always welcome. :)


	5. You're Not Asking The Right Question

He was good. She had to give him that. The remark about Cardiff took her by surprise and she might've overlooked his mistakes about James if it wasn't for that smug look on his face. Almost exactly like the Doctor when he wore a leather jacket. _And if I'm clever and I'm more than clever…_ She could almost hear him. Sherlock was brilliant, but that self righteous smile made her want to take him down a peg.

"That was amazing," she said. His smile widened. The smugness deepened. "How could you guess all that?"

"I don't guess." He leaned forward. "Your clothes are much too expensive for a working girl, but your trainers give you away. Their only a few months old, but the soles are wore down, which indicates you're on your feet a lot…working. Although your clothes indicate a higher status your earrings couldn't have cost more than ten pounds. Anyone born into wealth wouldn't have given them a second glance, which means that you either still shop at some of the same places or you bought them before. There are slight dark circles under your eyes that indicate you either don't sleep much or not for very long. You've tried to cover them up with make-up, but they're still visible."

He was brilliant, but she kept her awe in check. She couldn't let him see it. If he did she'd never get away with putting him in his place.

"And James?"

She was able to keep the emotion out of her voice. When Sherlock said his name she hadn't been expecting it, but this time she was ready.

"His name's in your phone under your list of contacts, but there aren't any calls to or from him in your history. Plenty of calls to your family and something called Torchwood, but nothing to James. Then there's the ring on your index finger. Diamond. Judging from your earrings and lack of any other fine jewelry it's not something you'd buy yourself, which means that someone else purchased it for you. Probably as a gift. You're wearing a necklace and from the weight I can discern that there's something a bit heavier than a pendant hanging from the end. A ring, I'd say. A ring on a necklace usually indicates a promise or loss. Since you haven't had any contact with him in a long time I'd say loss."

He sat back, that smug smile returned.

"That was brilliant…only…"

His eyes snapped to hers. He sat up in one fluid motion.

"Only?"

"Only it's completely wrong."

The smile slid from his lips.

"Wrong?" he asked as if he didn't understand what she meant.

Rose pulled the chain from the dip in her shirt. Dangling on the end wasn't a ring. It was key. The TARDIS key.

He stared at the key as if he'd never seen one before. She smiled. She couldn't help it.

"A key?" he asked.

"It is important. Well, it is to me and in a way it's connected to James, but we were never engaged. We might've been, but…" she slipped the key back under her shirt. He watched the key disappear. "…sometimes things don't work out."

"But he died."

"Sherlock," John chastised.

"Yes," Rose agreed.

"Suddenly?"

She pushed the memories aside when they threatened to come.

"Yes."

"And he bought you that diamond?"

She lifted her hand and gazed at the ring. A Christmas present. The only one he was able to give her. To make up for all the time they lost. Only _they _hadn't lost any time. It was the Doctor she lost time with.

"Yes."

"And that's his key."

She caught his eye.

"No."

"But he gave you the key?"

"No."

She could almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he tried to work out how the key could be connected to James if it wasn't his and he didn't give it to her.

"You said it was connected to him."

"In a way."

"How could it be connected to him if he didn't give it to you and it wasn't his?"

"Because it is."

"Because it is? Because it is isn't an answer," he snapped.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson snapped as she walked in the room. She was carrying a tray with little cakes, a pot, and three cups of tea. She sat it on the table between them then turned to Sherlock. "You shouldn't fight with John's sister."

"I wasn't fighting with her," he protested.

"I could hear you two clear downstairs."

"I was not-"

"If you need anything just let me know," Mrs. Hudson said turning to Rose and cutting Sherlock off.

"Thanks," Rose said, picking up a cup. "The tea looks brilliant."

She felt Sherlock eyeing her, but she ignored him.

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Hudson turned to the boys. "I'm going to be out for a bit. I have to pick up a few things at the market."

She turned and walked toward the door.

"If you're going to the market would you-" Sherlock began.

"I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson called as she walked out the door.

"If you need anything," he growled under his breath.

"What was that?" John asked.

"Nothing," he snapped, picking up a cake and examining it as if he thought there might be something wrong with it.

Rose watched him for a moment. Maybe she'd gone too far. She wasn't on her world. Not anymore. She'd jumped through a crack in reality and now she was on some parallel world. Stuck on a parallel world and they were the only people she knew. They might be fictional characters where she was from…where she was originally from…but they were real here and if she put them off she'd be alone. Not that being alone was bad, but being alone on a parallel world that might as well be an alien world for all she knew about it was definitely not good.

Sherlock sat the cake down and reached for his cup. He had that same sulky look the Doctor got when things weren't going his way.

"So," John said, picking up his own cuppa, "why exactly did you come here? Not that I'm not enjoying your company."

"Oh…um…" she looked at him. He wanted an answer, but what could she tell him? _I didn't exactly mean to come here. I jumped through a crack in reality to save everyone and I landed here. On your side table to be precise. _Yeah, that wouldn't work. It was the truth, but they'd never believe it.

"You're not asking the right question, John," Sherlock said.

"Not asking the right question?" John asked.

"Yes."

"And what would the right question be?"

She knew what Sherlock was getting at. It wasn't in the why it was in the how.

"_How_ did I get here," she said, then took a drink of her tea.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to her. They widened for a moment, almost indiscernibly.

"Precisely."

"How did you get here?" John asked, as if he didn't understand the question.

Sherlock sighed, setting his cup down. "I was in my room when I heard the crash. I came out to find…" he trailed off and glanced at her.

"Rose," she supplied. He was as bad with names as the Doctor had been when he wore a leather jacket.

"Rose, lying on the broken side table. She didn't come in through the door and the windows were all closed."

"How do you know she didn't come in through the front?"

"I didn't hear the door open."

"Do you know how many times I've left and you kept on talking to me…didn't even hear me go out?"

"Mrs. Hudson was surprised to see her," Sherlock explained as if that should answer his question.

"So?"

"So, that means she didn't come in through the front. If she didn't come in through the door or a window how did she wind up in our living room on top of a broken side table?"

Rose knew how, of course. She jumped through a crack and landed on their side table, but how was she going to explain that to them. They'd think she was a nutter.

"Then how did she get in?"

"The answer, of course, is that she didn't _get _in, at least not by ordinary means."

She eyed him.

"What?" John asked.

"She appeared in our living room, landing on the side table."

He sat back, giving John a couldn't-you-have-figured-that-out look.

"Appeared?"

"Exactly," Sherlock said obviously under the impression that John was finally on the same page, which…Rose glanced at John…he wasn't.

"What do you mean appeared?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed and sat up.

"She was there and then she was here," he said, gesturing with his hands.

"That doesn't make any sense, Sherlock."

"John, how many times have I told you that when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth?"

Rose almost laughed when he quoted his most famous line, but covered it up with a cough at the last minute. He gave her a questioning look.

"She appeared?" John asked humorously. "From somewhere else?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Only she can tell us that," Sherlock said, looking at her as if he was waiting on the answer.

He was right. Of course he was right. She couldn't believe he figured it out, more than that, that he believed that's what happened.

John laughed and shook his head.

"Just ignore him. He's obviously-"

"Right," she admitted.

Sherlock smiled.

"Sorry…what?" John asked, confused.

"He's right."

"Of course I am," Sherlock said with that air of superiority that made her want to smack him.

"But…that's not possible."

"No matter how _impossible, _John," Sherlock said without taking his eyes from her.

She took in John's disbelieving look and smiled.

"I know what it sounds like…how impossible it sounds and, believe me, a few years ago I would be right there with you, but I've seen things and…well, as an old friend once said _There are more things in heaven and earth,_" she replied.

She caught the not-what-I-expected-from-you look Sherlock was giving her and she couldn't help shooting him a smile. She liked surprising him. It made her feel the same way she felt when she surprised the Doctor.

"So," John said, trying to wrap his mind around what she said, but failing, "you just appeared in our living room?"

"Basically."

"What, like magic?"

She laughed.

"No magic." She found her eyes drifting toward Sherlock. "Science."

His eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. She smiled then took a drink of her tea.

"Science?" John asked.

She looked at John and was about to elaborate when Sherlock's mobile rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered.

"Sherlock Holmes."

As she watched that air of superiority that was always present strengthened. The smugness returned.

"We're on our way," Sherlock said before disconnecting and sliding the mobile back into his pocket.

John sat his tea down.

"A case?" he asked, standing up.

"Possibly." Sherlock strode to the door. Rose stood up, not sure where she was going to go now, but then Sherlock turned and eyed her. "Coming?"

"Yeah," John replied.

"Not you…her," he said, pointing at Rose.

"Not me?"

"Yes, you, of course you, and her too."

"Me?" she asked.

It wasn't that she didn't want to go with him. This was Sherlock Holmes after all and he was going on a case. There was no doubt she wanted to come along, but why did he want her to come?

He strode toward her then stopped, looking her over in that calculating way. "You told me that you've seen things."

"Yes," she said, gazing into his strangely colored eyes.

"Things ordinary people would find impossible."

"Yes."

"But not in a while."

"How did you-"

"Your trainers."

She glanced at her shoes.

"My trainers?"

"I got them wrong. They're not a couple months old. They're a year old, maybe two. The soles are worn down from before. You still work a lot, but inside. You've been taken out of the field, as it were."

"Blimey, you're good."

He smiled.

"Would you like back in?"

She returned his smile.

"More than anything."

"Come along then," he said, turning, but not before she noticed the smug smile.

She chose to ignore it as she followed him out the door with John trailing behind. A case. Sherlock Holmes. Murder most likely, could be blackmail or theft, but she was putting her money on murder. She'd seen death before, traveling with the Doctor at first then working for Torchwood, but this was going to be a whole lot different than what she was used to.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! :)

**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.**


	6. The Mushroom Murder

When Rose stepped out of the cab the first thing she noticed was the body, lying in a crumpled heap to the left of the porch. Bits of broken glass lay scattered around. She looked up, three stories, a large broken window yawned in the late afternoon light.

"Mr. Holms," a man in an expensive suit said, extending his hand. Sherlock took the offered hand and they shook. "I'm-"

"Thomas Slater. Son of the deceased. Yes, I know."

That was rude. Thomas scowled. He appeared to be in his late twenties to early thirties. He rubbed the back of his neck, grazing his neatly trimmed dark hair.

"Sherlock," another man greeted.

"Lestrade," Sherlock acknowledged before stepping toward the body.

Rose took in his suit, overcoat, and graying hair as she trailed behind John. So, this was the inspector? He watched them.

Thomas stood off to the side, purposely averting his eyes from his father's body. She felt sorry for him and wondered why he didn't go inside.

"The police think that he jumped," Thomas said.

"Jumped?" she asked, gazing up at the window. "Through the closed window?"

"He was alone in the room," Lestrade pointed out.

"Where were you?" John asked, looking at Thomas.

"He was having dinner with his girlfriend," Sherlock said without looking up. "Pasta with butter sauce."

"How did you know?" Thomas asked.

"There's a bit of sauce on your tie," Sherlock commented.

Rose watched Thomas pull out his tie and look at it. She could see the sauce now, no more than a couple drops, but there it was.

"How did you know about his girlfriend?" she asked.

"Lipstick smudge on his collar."

She glanced at his collar. A smudge of red lipstick was visible at the top.

"Show me the room," Sherlock continued as he stood up.

Lestrade led them inside. They passed a few police officers on their way to the marble staircase. It was very posh. Even nicer than the mansion her parents lived in.

Sherlock slid his hand along the rail as they made their way up the stairs. He appeared to be deep in concentration, but she knew he was taking in every detail. He was brilliant and he knew it.

They stepped into an office like study. There was a mahogany desk on one side. Antique. A laptop sat on the desk with an open bottle of wine next to it. Sherlock began examining everything.

"I'll be back in a minute," Lestrade said.

Sherlock waved him off dismissively. Again with the rudeness, but Lestrade didn't seem to notice or maybe he was used to it. He walked out the door and down the hall. A moment later a woman with frizzy dark hair popped her head in the room.

"Oh, look, it's the freak," she announced.

"Sergeant Donovan…always a pleasure," John greeted, sarcastically.

"Still with him then?"

"I am."

She eyed Rose.

"And who's this?" she asked.

"This is…" John began, trailing off as if he wasn't sure what to say.

"John's sister," Sherlock called from under the desk.

"Your sister?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you can talk some sense into your brother," she said, stepping toward Rose. "That one there," she pointed at Sherlock who was now examining the chair, "is bad news."

"Why's that?" Rose asked.

"Well, look at him. He shows up at all kinds of crime scenes."

"The Inspector doesn't seem to mind."

"That's not the point. The point is he does it because he likes it."

"He must be good at it otherwise he wouldn't be here."

"Not necessarily. Sometimes he just shows up because he's board."

"So?"

"So, normal people don't go to crime scenes because they're board."

"He doesn't strike me as _normal_."

"That's my point."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"So anyone who isn't your definition of normal must have something wrong with them, yeah?"

"No, I'm not saying that."

"So…what? It's just people who want to help?"

"No, and he's not doing it because he wants to help, he's doing it because he likes it."

"Oh, so it's anyone who does what they like?"

"No, I'm not saying that. What I mean is-"

"What you mean is him. It's not other people. It's just him."

"There's something wrong with him, that's what I'm saying."

"There's something wrong with someone in this room and it isn't him."

Donovan opened her mouth, Rose guessed to shoot back a reply when Lestrade entered the room. She turned on her heels and stalked out the door.

"That was brilliant," John said.

"What was?" Lestrade asked, glancing from Rose to John as if he'd missed something.

"Oh, nothing," he dismissed.

"John," Sherlock called.

"Yes?"

"So?" Sherlock asked, opening his arms wide and turning to indicate the room.

"Oh…um…" John walked to the window and gazed down. "He jumped."

"Yes, but was it suicide?"

"Isn't that generally why people jump out a third story window?"

"You're not seeing everything."

John looked around the room. "Well, he was alone. There wasn't a fire. No reason for him to have to jump out the window, but that's what he did."

Sherlock sighed.

"What?" John asked, but Sherlock ignored him.

Instead, he gazed at Rose.

"Ms. Tyler, what do you think?"

She hadn't expected that. The fictional character didn't ask what other people thought. Well, sometimes Watson, but not anyone else. At least, not that she remembered.

"Ms. Tyler?" he asked.

She gazed around the room. _Come on, you can do this. How many times did you help the Doctor or figure things out on your own at Torchwood?_

"You see something. What is it?" Sherlock asked.

One sentence rang through her mind, one she hadn't thought of in a very long time.

"A footprint doesn't look like a boot," she said.

Sherlock caught her gaze. His eyes widened and then he smiled.

"What?" John asked.

"Precisely," Sherlock agreed.

"A footprint doesn't…What the hell does that mean?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh, shut up Lestrade," Sherlock said, crossing the room. "She's on to something." He stopped in front of Rose, catching her eye. "Suicide?"

"No," she insisted. She smiled. There might not be a werewolf or Daleks, but she hadn't had this much fun in...She realized he was waiting for her to continue. "It looks like suicide, but it was murder."

His lips spread into a wide grin as he grabbed her shoulders.

"Yes!...But how?"

Her gaze fell on the wineglass and then traveled to the open bottle on the desk.

"The wine."

"Exactly!"

"The wine?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock released her and they both turned to the Inspector.

"Don't you see?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not really," Lestrade answered.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Live with that tiny mind of yours."

"Rude," Rose shot.

Sherlock turned to her.

"I-"

"He was drinking wine before he jumped," Rose cut in, choosing not to listen to Sherlock's reason for being rude because she knew why. He was like Doctor. Neither of them took the time to think before they spoke because their minds worked too fast and they couldn't slow things down.

"So?" Lestrade asked.

"But he didn't set the wineglass down. He dropped it," she continued.

"What does wine have to do with-" Lestrade began.

"It has everything to do with it," Sherlock insisted. "There's a stain on the carpet."

"Which means he was interrupted when he was drinking it…surprised, or-"

"Poisoned," Sherlock finished walking over to the desk to pick up the bottle of wine.

"Poisoned?" John and Lestrade asked at the same time.

He sniffed the contents then lifted the bottle to his lips.

"What are you-" Lestrade began.

"No!" John and Rose shouted, but he'd already taken a sip.

"Psilocybin," Sherlock said.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"Mushrooms."

"Mushrooms?" John asked.

"Hallucinogenic. Not too bad in normal doses, but there's…" he stumbled. John was at his side in the next minute. "Quite a bit in the wine."

"And that made him jump out the window?" Lestrade asked.

"Maybe he thought he had to or he didn't think it was a window," Rose suggested.

"Someone made him jump out the window," Sherlock said.

"But there wasn't anyone in the room," Lestrade protested.

Sherlock swayed.

"Whoever it was called him. Probably suggested he have some wine while they talked."

"How could you know that?"

"His mobile is outside, under his body."

"He could've been talking to anyone."

"Trace the last call. You'll find your killer."

Sherlock swayed again.

"Alright. That's enough investigating. I need to get you to a hospital," John insisted.

"I'll be fine, John. Just take me home."

John took a couple steps, but as soon as Sherlock let go of the desk they almost went down together.

"Here, let me help," Rose said wrapping Sherlock's other arm around her neck and putting her arm around his waist just below John's.

"I'll drive you," Lestrade offered.

He led them down the stairs and then opened the door of his patrol car. After helping to load Sherlock in Rose slid in next to John. She hoped they could get him home before the hallucinations kicked in.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! :)

**If you have time reviews are always welcome.**


	7. Hallucinations and tea

The stairs proved to be the trickiest part. Sherlock insisted on going up himself, but after three attempts to put his foot on the bottom step, because he said his foot kept going through the wood, John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and began guiding him up.

Lestrade received a convenient call on his radio and didn't stick around to help. John was pretty sure his sudden call had more to do with the fact that Sherlock patted his face three times when the inspector tried to help him out of the car. He said he was trying to work out where that green light surround Lestrade had come from.

"John," Sherlock said.

"Yes?" John asked, groaning out the s as his flatmate took that moment to lean toward him, nearly knocking them both back down the stairs.

"I have to tell you something."

"Can it wait? We're almost-"

"No, I have to do it now. It's important."

"Okay, what is it?"

"I know I haven't said it, but I've always thought it," Sherlock said, patting John's chest with his free hand and swaying in the process. He had to keep them from tumbling backwards again.

"What's that?" he asked, more focused on keeping them from going down the stairs than what his flatmate was saying.

They reached the top of the stairs. Rose was waiting with the door open.

"You-" Sherlock noticed her standing on the other side of the door. "The blonde." John was pretty sure Sherlock was aiming for his chest, but his flatmate wound up patting his face instead. "Look John it's the blonde."

"Yes. I can see that," John muttered in annoyance.

He had to get his friend into bed. Bed and something to help him sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was go through six hours of this.

"She appeared in our living room. Did you know that John?"

"Yes. I was there, remember?"

He tried to guide Sherlock to his room, but his flatmate was focused on Rose who appeared to be trying not to laugh and making a bad job of it.

"How did you do it?" he asked, walking toward her and dragging John along with him. "No," he waved his hand, making John sidestep to keep them both from falling, "don't tell me. I'll figure it out. I'm sure it has to do with…" he glanced around the room. "There's a way. There has to be. What if…?"

"I think it's time for bed," John said, hoping to distract his friend. When Sherlock started in on a mystery there was no stopping him.

"John," Sherlock insisted, giving John a shove that nearly sat him in the chair that they were standing next to. "Don't patronize me. I may have ingested Psilocybin, but my mind remains intact."

"That's up for debate," John muttered.

"YOU," he said, pointing at Rose with a slight sway, "are working for him aren't you?"

"Working for who?" she asked. Her smile slipped, but she looked more confused than anything else.

"Him, HIM!"

He crossed the room toward her. John could tell he was using most of his willpower to keep from staggering, which was pretty remarkable with what he ingested.

"I'm not working for anyone," she insisted, folding her arms across her chest.

"Don't lie to me!"

He waved his arm dramatically, swaying in the process.

"I'm not lying to you!"

"You're working for him! I know you are!" He began pacing, but slower than usual. "It's him. It's all about HIM! I know it's…" He stopped, his eyes darted to the kitchen. "What was that?"

John turned around.

"What was what?"

"Right there! In the kitchen!" He took a step and swayed, grabbing the back of his chair. "Can't you see it man?"

"I don't see anything," Rose said.

"It's right bloody there!"

"Sherlock, I don't see-"

"There! It…it's moving," he exclaimed.

"Moving?" John asked, glancing at his friend who was looking around the room wildly.

"It's HIM! He's here. Watching me. I know it's…THERE IN THE CORNER!"

The door flew open.

"Sherlock what the devil is all the noise about?" Mrs. Hudson demanded, stepping into the room.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock greeted, opening his arms and crossing the room. "Brilliant to see you." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

"What has gotten into you?"

"Cakes," he said, releasing her.

"Cakes?"

"Yes. Those lovely little cakes you make with tea sometimes. Do you have any?"

"No, I-"

"Oh, too bad. I was hoping-" His eyes fell on John. "John, what are you doing just standing there man? Mrs. Hudson has come for tea." He took a couple steps toward John and then swayed again.

John crossed the room. He'd had about enough of this. He needed to get his friend in bed before he started in about someone watching him again. "Come on now, Sherlock and we'll make Mrs. Hudson some tea."

"Don't be absurd, John. I don't make tea."

John led him into the kitchen.

"Well, then you can check the website on your laptop while I make the tea."

John led him into his room and deposited him on the bed.

"Has my bed always been this color?"

"I believe so. Yes. I'm just going to grab you some…" John stepped out of the room and hurried into the living room. "Mrs. Hudson. Do you have any sleeping pills?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"He…um…"

"Ate some bad mushrooms," Rose supplied.

"They must have been very bad."

"They were," John agreed. "The sleeping pills. Do you have any?"

"Yes, I'll just get them."

She walked out the door, but returned within minutes, handing John two pills. He took them and returned to the kitchen. After filling a cup with water he stepped back into Sherlock's room. His friend was still sitting in the same position, but he was staring at the back of his hand.

"I can see my skin breath, John." He waved his hand in John's face. "Can you see it?"

"No, I…um…brought you something."

He handed Sherlock the pills.

"Pills, John?"

"Yes."

He stared at the pills.

"Why?"

"They'll help."

"And I'm supposed to take them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your doctor and I'm telling you to."

"All right," Sherlock shrugged and then popped them in his mouth.

"I brought you…" John began, holding out the cup of water, but his friend had already swallowed them.

Sherlock eyed the cup.

"What's that?"

"Water."

"Why would I want water? Where's the tea? Weren't you making tea?"

"I'll put the kettle on."

"Yes. The kettle," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, but as John started out the door Sherlock called him back. "John."

"Yes?"

"I had something important to tell you."

"Can it wait?"

"No, I've got to tell you. It's too important to wait."

"What is it then?"

"It's about you and…I know I haven't said it before, but it's…difficult for me to say these things."

Difficult for him to? What was he trying to say?

"Yes?"

"I just wanted you to know. In case anything ever happens…" He flopped back in the bed.

"What is it?"

He turned his head and gazed at John.

"Tea John. You make brilliant tea."

He waited, but Sherlock didn't say anything else.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me? That I make brilliant tea?"

Sherlock didn't answer because he'd found something interesting about his side table. He began examining it, looking under it, touching the top of it. John shook his head and walked into the kitchen.

He filled the kettle, but as he set it on the stove a buzzing sound emanated from his pocket. He pulled his mobile out and read the text.

_Are you with my brother?_

_MH_

Mycroft? What did he want now? He always seemed to pick the worst time. John typed his reply.

_Yes._

He turned the stove on. The buzzing came again.

_Where are you?_

"Is he going to be all right?"

John looked up. Rose was standing in the kitchen, concern evident in her expression. He still didn't have an answer as to why she was there in the first place, but she seemed nice. A bit odd, but after living with Sherlock odd was becoming his new normal.

"Yes. I believe so. He didn't ingest enough to be harmful, but until the sleeping pills kick in he's going to be…" He trailed off, nodding toward Sherlock's bedroom. His flatmate was clearly visible through the open door. He'd gotten down on the floor and was peering under his dresser. "A bit off."

John texted his response to Mycroft.

_Home._

Rose laughed.

"What's he doing?" she asked.

"No idea," John replied, turning around to take down two cups.

His phone buzzed.

_I'm sending a car._

_MH_

John sighed. Sherlock couldn't do anything for Mycroft in his condition.

_Sherlock's indisposed._

"Who's that?" Rose asked.

"Oh, just…" The phone buzzed in his hands. "…Sherlock's brother."

_Indisposed?_

_MH_

"There's two of them?" she asked.

"He's his older brother."

_He's ill._

"He's always doing this," John continued.

"Doing what?"

He opened the tea tin. The phone buzzed again.

_Ill? Should I be worried?_

_MH_

"Wanting something at the worst possible time."

"Tell him you can't do it."

John laughed at the idea.

"I doubt that would go over," he replied, texting Mycroft.

_He'll be fine by tomorrow._

"I don't think he's going to be any help right now," Rose said, motioning to the open bedroom door where Sherlock appeared to be listening to his dresser as he had his ear up to the side of it.

The phone buzzed.

_The car's on its way._

_MH_

"Looks like I'll be going in his place." John slid the phone back into his pocket. "Would you mind staying to keep an eye on him?"

"Of course I will."

John walked into the living room and slid into his jacket.

"The sleeping pills should kick in soon. Until then just-"

"Keep an eye on him and don't let him leave. I know. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."

John paused, eyeing her in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I had this friend. He used to get himself into trouble like that all the time."

She gave him a smile which he returned. Her friend sounded a bit like his.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be…"

His meetings with Mycroft usually didn't take too long, but he never knew what was going to happen when he met with Sherlock's brother.

"It's fine. I can sleep on the sofa if I get tired."

It sounded as if she didn't have anywhere to be, which seemed strange. Didn't she have family waiting on her? She might live alone.

"Okay, good, there's some spare blankets and a pillow in my closet," he said, gesturing toward his room. "I won't be too long if I can help it."

"Don't worry. We'll be fine. Like you said, he'll fall asleep soon."

John hesitated a moment after opening the door. His phone buzzed again. It was probably Mycroft letting him know the car arrived.

"Alright, then," he said stepping out the door and closing it behind.

* * *

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	8. The Plan

Sherlock appeared to be gazing under his dresser, but he was actually waiting for the sound that would tell him his plan was working. The blonde. It was all about her and her sudden appearance in his flat. Ah, and there it was! The buzzing of John's mobile indicating he had a text. Now, it was just matter of time.

The moment he stepped into the room Mr. Slater jumped from he'd known exactly what happened. Examining the desk and the window had been a ruse to give him time to observe _her_, but then she'd done something he hadn't expected. She, as John had done on occasion, stuck up for him. It took him by surprise and almost threw him off his game…almost.

He asked John about the suicide first and his friend came to a perfectly ordinary conclusion. He was getting better, but he still didn't see everything. Usually Sherlock would've prodded his friend to find the truth, but he'd brought the blonde for the purpose of discovering how she thought and to do that he needed to find out what she saw.

She was from a working class background. Her family might be posh now, but that's not how she was brought up, and yet she quoted Shakespeare in everyday speech. She was polite, but didn't mind pointing out his rudeness. It all made for a very confusing picture and he wasn't able to draw any conclusion about her mind.

He could tell from the way John looked at her that his friend found her attractive, but that wasn't Sherlock's area. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have given her a second glance, but she'd gotten into his flat and, according to her, she'd used science to do it.

When he asked her about the suicide she came to the same conclusion he had after glancing around the room. And the phrase she used. It was one of the strangest things he'd ever heard, but it was completely true. She wasn't a genius, not like him, but she was sharp. She saw the whole picture. Noticed things that ordinary people didn't notice.

Normally he wouldn't have thought twice about her, but there wasn't anything normal in the way she appeared in his flat. It had to be a ploy to pique his interest, but why? Did she want something from him? He dismissed that idea. If she wanted him for a case she would've told him by now. Had someone else sent her? Mycroft? Doubtful, but still a possibility. Moriarty? Another possibility. She could be a hired assassin. He'd solved enough crimes to put a horde of hostile prisoners behind bars.

There was only one way to find out. He had to get her alone. If she was sent to kill him she'd make her move and if she was there for another reason she might let something slip. The plan formulated in his mind the moment he realized how perceptive she was. He crossed the room, picked up the wine, and appeared to take a drink.

After that it was all about believability. When they were back in his flat he took the opportunity to accuse her of working for Moriarty. He hadn't said the name, but if she was then she'd know who he was talking about. Only there was no emotional betrayal on her face. Confusion, yes, but no fear, shock, concern, nothing that indicated she knew who he was talking about.

Mycroft was another part of his plan. He'd been texting Sherlock for the last two hours. Ever since the cab ride to the crime scene. He set his phone to silent in the car, deciding to put his brother off until later. He knew that Mycroft would eventually text John to find out where he was and that fit perfectly into his plan. John would make excuses, but if Mycroft was insistent, which he always was, his friend would meet with Sherlock's brother himself.

The sound of the door closing told Sherlock that the second part of his plan was about to be put in motion. John was leaving to meet Mycroft, a meeting that would run on for at least a few hours because he knew what his brother wanted. Although he set his phone to silent he read through the texts.

There was a client waiting. One of Mycroft's business associates. Someone had stolen a valuable painting from an auction house. Sherlock might've been interested…mildly interested, if he didn't have a more pressing mystery to solve. John would be meeting with their client and then questioning employees, going over police files, and taking a look round the auction house. Boring.

He felt between the mattresses where he kept one of the pistols that found its way into his flat. The one from the bloke who'd gone out the window with a bit of help from him. He doubted he'd need it, but it was there just in case. Then he lay back on his bed and waited.

He heard her cross the room into the kitchen. If she was an assassin he'd given her an opportune moment. Her intended target was vulnerable. Under the effects of a hallucinogenic drug. They were alone in the flat. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs. He heard her leave after she returned with the sleeping pills. Most likely to return to her programs.

The blonde walked around the kitchen. What was she doing? Looking for a knife? She didn't appear to have anything on her…no, there'd been something in her pocket. He thought it was a thin lamp or some kind of tool, but maybe it was a weapon. If she was an assassin it made sense that she'd bring her own weapon.

She pulled open a drawer. She must be looking for a knife. The kettle whistled. She picked it up. Poured water into her cup. _Is she…making tea? _He was lying on his bed waiting for her to try to kill him and she was making tea! Didn't she see the opportunity he was affording her?

She sat the kettle back on the stove. He heard the click of the burner being turned off. Maybe she wasn't there to kill him. If she wasn't then what was she there for? She hadn't said anything about a case.

She opened the door of the icebox…and…and…closed the door. Wait. Did John remove the head? Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have. She hadn't screamed so it must've been removed. Brilliant. He'd have to replace that one too.

He heard her cross the room toward his door. Ah! Here it comes. He tried to look natural while bracing himself for a struggle. She popped her head in the door holding a cup in her hands.

"All right there?" she asked, catching his eye.

She was checking on him? He'd been all set for a life and death struggle that…apparently…wasn't going to happen. She wasn't planning on killing him, which meant he needed to pry information from her. Try to discern her motives.

"Where's John?" he asked, trying to sound confused.

"He stepped out to see your brother," she said.

"Are you sure he went to see my brother?"

She entered the room, gazing at him in concern. Good. He could use that.

"That's where he said he was going."

"But what if someone tricked him."

She sat her cup on his side table.

"Why would someone do that?"

"To get to me."

She laughed. He felt his mask slip. Why was she laughing? He was trying to pull off being paranoid. John wouldn't have laughed at that. He'd be concerned. Sherlock would've scoffed at it, but she was laughing.

"What is it with you genius' and thinking the world revolves around you?"

What? That wasn't what he said.

"I didn't say the world revolved around me."

"John leaves and you start to think that maybe someone tricked him to get to you. Sounds like that's what you think."

"It wouldn't be the first time it's happened."

"You're right full of yourself aren't you?"

Full of himself? She sat down on the edge of his bed, motioning for him to shove over, which he did with a very uncomfortable look on his face.

"I am not-"

"Don't worry if anyone comes in after you I'll protect you," she replied, cutting him off.

Protect him? He didn't need anyone, least of all this insolent woman, to protect him. He thought she knew who he was. He dealt with murderers on a nearly daily basis, would be daily if he had anything to say about it, but sometimes the world was a dismal place.

"I can defend myself."

"You can, can you?"

She smiled, making him scowl.

"Yes," he sniffed, glancing at the other side of the room as he tried to ignore the fact that she was sitting on his bed as if she had every right to be there.

A few silent minutes crawled by during which he wished she'd get up and shove off.

"A little odd isn't it?" she asked.

He looked at her. Odd? What was she talking about?

"What's odd?"

"The fact that your hallucinations stopped as soon as I pointed out how full of yourself you are."

He froze. He'd forgotten that he was pretending to have ingested the Psilocybin. Did she know the whole time? Was she pretending to play along with him? Oh, she was good!

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. At least, not until you got distracted because of what I said, but I'm sure I would've worked it out soon enough."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're acting's a bit…" she trailed off with a laugh.

"A bit what?" he asked, scowling.

Instead of answering his question she stood up.

"Now that I know you're not going to have some weird hallucinogenic fit would you like some tea?" she asked.

She obviously wasn't going to answer him, but at least she wasn't sitting on his bed anymore. He scowled at her, not ready to let go of the comment she didn't finish.

"Yes."

She started out the door and then stopped and turned back.

"You realize there's a head in your icebox?"

"It's for an experiment," he replied, completely forgetting her earlier comment.

So, the head was there when she opened the icebox, but she hadn't screamed. Strange. Not for him, but for anyone else. Especially a woman. Not that he'd been around many, but all the ones John had brought round would've screamed and some might've fainted. Molly was the only exception, but he'd gotten the head from her in the first place.

"As long as you know it's there," she replied before disappearing into the kitchen.

He thought about staying in bed. He'd blundered his plan and now he had to come up with a new one, but then he thought about her returning and taking up residence on the side of his bed again while they had tea. That got him off the bed and out the door.

He stepped into the kitchen in time to observe Rose open the icebox door and retrieve the milk, which was sitting next to the head. No moment of hesitation or slight cringe. It was almost as if it were an everyday occurrence. She added milk to his tea and then returned it to the icebox.

"Do you get your kicks watching people make tea for you?" she asked with her back to him.

He raised an eyebrow. She turned around and faced him with a strange smile. One that was a bit…distracting.

"I was observing," he replied.

"Well, would you like to observe me in the living room or we could…" She glanced at his open bedroom door.

"No. The…um…other room will be fine," he replied feeling a foreign sensation creeping into his cheeks.

"It was only a joke," she said, that smile still present.

Joking? People didn't joke with him. Well, John did on occasion, but that was different. She retrieved her tea from his side table and he followed her into the other room.

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	9. Meeting With Mycroft

I know this one's short so I uploaded another one to make up for that. Hope you all enjoy them. :)

I wanted to thank you for all the comments so far and for taking the time to read the story.

* * *

John arrived at the auction house to find Mycroft waiting outside for him. He climbed out of the car and joined the elder Holmes near the entrance.

"I trust my brother will make a full recovery by the morning?" Mycroft asked.

"He should," John replied.

"Should?"

Mycroft eyed him, making him shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

"Will. I meant he will. Yes."

"Good. Very good."

Mycroft gazed at him for a moment.

"Ill?" he asked.

John knew he was asking about Sherlock.

"Yes. Just a twenty-four hour thing."

His eyes narrowed as if he wasn't sure if he believed John's story of a twenty-four hour illness.

"You're sure he's ill? Because if he's back on-"

John shook his head adamantly. He knew what Mycroft was about to say, but Sherlock wasn't back on anything. That was something he always made certain.

"No. He's not."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Mycroft nodded, seeming to accept John at his word.

"Well, I trust you left him in the care of Mrs. Hudson?"

"No."

"No? You didn't leave him on his own did you?"

"There's someone with him."

"Someone?"

Mycroft's gaze intensified.

"She's taking care of him this…girl," his voice lowered on the last word.

The elder Holmes looked at him in confusion.

"Girl?"

"Yes it's fine. She's fine."

He seemed to guess John's reluctance to talk about her, but the last thing he wanted was for Mycroft to find out he left Sherlock alone with a strange woman. He doubted the elder Holmes would take that very well, but it wasn't as if John had much of a choice.

"What girl?"

"Rose. You don't know her, but she's nice. A nice girl I mean."

Yes, she was a nice girl. Or, at least, she seemed nice enough.

"A nice girl? And she agreed to take care of Sherlock while you were out?" Mycroft chuckled at the idea. "You left Sherlock alone with a girl?"

"I gave him something to help him sleep. I'm sure they'll be fine."

They would, wouldn't they? Of course they would. Sherlock would fall asleep and all she'd have to do is keep an ear out. Yes, they'd be fine and it wasn't like this would take hours. Meet with the clients and then back home. After that, well, he might chat her up a bit. It wasn't every day he came across a woman who could put up with his…unusual friend.

"Yes, well, your client is this way," Mycroft said, shaking his head as he showed John to the door.

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	10. The Gun

Rose was sitting in the chair across from him. The one John usually occupied. He wasn't sure how long the silence had stretched between them, but she sat there with knees bent, legs pulled up next to her, drinking her tea and gazing around at the room. Her eyes came to rest on him, as if she knew he'd come out of his thoughts.

"Protect me how?" he asked.

"Sorry?" she asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

"You said if someone broke in you could protect me. How were you planning on doing that?"

He wasn't sure if she'd show him the weapon she was carrying, but since everything else failed he decided to try the direct approach.

"How would depend on the situation."

"Oh?" he asked, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

"Say it was just a bloke, unarmed, angry husband sort-"

The idea was absurd.

"That would never happen," he dismissed.

"Never?"

She arched her eyebrows. He caught her gaze.

"Never."

"Okay, one bloke, angry because…" She looked him over. "You were rude to his wife."

"And that brought him over to my flat?"

"Very rude."

Her lips curved up slightly. He arched his eyebrow.

"And?"

"And I suppose I'd let him have a go at you," she said, giving him that distracting smile. "You were rude to his wife after all," she laughed.

Joking. He might've let it go at that, but this little game had piqued his interest. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together.

"One man armed with a knife," he suggested.

"I'd disarm him."

She seemed pretty sure of herself.

"How?"

"Again, that would depend on the situation," she replied, sitting back as she picked up her tea.

"And if you couldn't?"

She caught his eye.

"I could."

She was speaking from experience. It was evident in her voice. He smiled.

"And if he had a gun?"

"I'd disarm him."

She wasn't expecting him to believe that she'd kick the gun out of his hand, was she? Under certain circumstances that would work, but not all the time.

"How?"

"With a little trick I learned," she said taking a drink of her tea.

"What trick?"

"If a bloke comes through that door," She nodded toward the door, "with a gun you'll find out."

The game had come to an end. There was only one way for him to find out what sort of weapon she possessed…he pulled the gun from his back waistband as he stood up and pointed it at her.

"Disarm me," he commanded.

"You forgot to come through the door," she teased.

Teased? He was pointing a gun at her. She hardly knew him. Did she think he was joking?

"It's loaded."

"I'll take your word on that."

He pointed at the wall above the sofa and fired. A shot rang across the room and imbedded in the wall. He swung the gun back to her.

"Disarm me," he demanded.

"Why?"

She was infuriating!

"Because I'm pointing a loaded gun at you."

"But you're not going to shoot me."

He wouldn't, but she couldn't know that.

"What makes you say that?"

"I know you're not."

"You can't possibly know that."

"Yes. I can." She stood up. "I can see it."

"For all you know I could be that sort of person."

She stepped toward him and reached out, putting her hand on his. The one holding the gun.

"No, you're not."

He gazed at her, distractedly, very aware of her hand on his.

"I…" his voice came out a bit gruff and he had to clear his throat before he continued. _What the hell's wrong with me? _"I know what you're trying to do."

She took her hand off his.

"What am I trying to do?"

"Distract me," he replied, lowering the gun.

"Distract you from what?" she asked, searching his eyes as if she didn't know what he was talking about, but she had to. She was the one doing all that smiling and touching and…he cleared his throat again.

"From learning the truth."

"If you want to know something then why don't you come out and ask?"

"I did."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," he insisted.

"Well," she flopped back in John's chair. "Then maybe you're not asking the right question." Again with that distracting smile.

What did she mean by that? He always asked the right questions, but with her there were more questions than answers. What sort of science allowed her to appear in his flat? Where exactly had she come from? What did she do for a living? Why did she have a key hanging round her neck and what was it for? Who was The Doctor and why had she saved that particular name in her contacts? Why had she come here in the first place? What did she want from him? And what the hell was in her pocket? Were the immediate ones that came to mind and that was just scratching the surface.

"You've got that look again," she said.

He glanced at her.

"What look?"

"The one that tells me I better find out if there's anything edible in the flat before you lose another half hour."

"There's milk," he said, waving his hand dismissively, as if it didn't matter because, to him, it didn't.

"Milk's great for tea, but I haven't eaten since…this morning."

"You're hungry?" he asked.

He only ate when he wasn't working a case and usually only then because someone brought him something. John did seem to eat a few times a day, actually quite a bit some days.

"Yes. People generally get that way." She eyed him curiously. "You are human aren't you?"

He raised his eyebrow.

"There's another choice?"

"You'd be surprised." That distracting smile was back then she stood up and before he knew what she was doing she'd slipped her hand into his and helped him out of the chair.

"What're you-"

"You want answers I want dinner," she released his hand, grabbed his coat, and handed it to him. "Your treat."

"My treat?" he asked, sliding into his coat.

"You're the one who wants answers, yeah?"

She crossed the room and opened the door.

"Besides, I don't think my money's good here."

He gave her a quizzical look, but she shooed him through the door before he could ask about it. He followed her down the stairs and out the front door, mulling over her comment, but he did notice when she laced her arm through his as they walked down the road.

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	11. Concerns

John wrote the information from the last employee in his notebook. He'd interviewed all seven of them. They each had an alibi and none of them had seen anything, but the painting couldn't have simply vanished. He was missing something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. If Sherlock had been there he'd probably have solved the case by now, but an hour and a half in and John didn't have a clue.

"Can I go?" the brunette asked.

She was sitting in the chair with her arms folded and her legs crossed. She'd been the worst of them. At first he thought he might ask her out for a bite, after the case was solved of course, but she was annoyed that she was being questioned at all and she didn't mind voicing that. Repeatedly. Although she worked at the auction house she was also the owner's daughter and how dare anyone question her about anything.

"Yes," John replied without looking up.

She grabbed her purse and stalked out of the room. John slid his pen and notebook back into his pocket. At least all that was out of the way and he could finally head home. He turned around to leave the room and came face to face with Mycroft.

"Finished with the interviews?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes, just now. I was about to-"

"Go over the room. Yes, I know."

Go over the room? No, Sherlock could do that tomorrow. He was heading home.

"Actually, I thought Sherlock-"

"Could have a look round tomorrow? Naturally, but it would put the owner's mind at ease if you had a look tonight."

"I don't see why it would matter."

"Of course you don't, but it does to him, which means it does to me."

"Okay. I'll have a look then," John said, taking a step toward the doorway.

"There was something I was wondering about though," Mycroft said, stopping John.

"About?"

"That girl you mentioned earlier."

"Rose?"

"Yes, that's the one. A friend of yours, is she?"

"No," Mycroft eyed him. "Um, no…what I meant to say is yes. She's a friend of mine. I mean, I haven't known her for very long or anything, but she's nice."

"Yes. Nice girl. You said that already."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Where did you meet her?"

"At the flat."

"She came by your flat?"

"Yes."

"To hire my brother?"

"No…um…" Actually, now that he thought about it he didn't really know why she came by. Appeared. Appeared in the flat. Those were Sherlock's words.

"No?" Mycroft gazed at him for a moment and then he smiled. "Ah, well, as you said she's a nice girl."

"Yeah," John said, slowly. "You're not…concerned are you?"

"Concerned? Why should I be concerned? As you said she's a nice girl. Obviously she'd have to be to agree to look after my brother, especially given that he's ill. She must be a very dear friend indeed." Mycroft held out his hand. John took it, mulling over what the elder Holmes said. They shook. "I'll be off now, but I look forward to speaking with you and my brother tomorrow."

John watched as Mycroft walked out of the room. Should he be worried about his friend? According to Sherlock she had appeared in their flat. That couldn't be the case. She had to have come from somewhere, but it would be enough to get his friend interested. John decided it didn't matter what Mycroft wanted, he needed to get home and check on Sherlock.

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	12. The Key

She touched her necklace again. She'd done it twice since they sat down at the corner booth by the window. Once, when a man in a brown overcoat walked through the door and again when a woman sitting near them talked about an appointment she had on Monday with her doctor. A man. A doctor. He remembered the name in her phone. The Doctor. Did the key have something to do with him?

"Who is The Doctor?" Sherlock asked.

She froze with her cup to her lips. The name was important. She lowered the cup.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"The Doctor. The name's listed in your contacts on your mobile."

She glanced out the window as she sat her cup down, her free hand reaching up to touch her necklace for a third time.

"A friend."

No. This Doctor wasn't simply a friend. There was more to it than that.

"More than a friend I'd say."

She looked at him and he could see…pain. A deep wound. One that hadn't quite healed.

"He was."

Was? Was he dead? No. There was separation, but of a different sort. Something else happened.

"He's the one who gave you the key," Sherlock deduced.

She dropped her hand as if she suddenly realized what she was doing.

"Yes."

"You said the key was also connected to James."

"In a way it is."

"Was James connected to the Doctor?"

"Yes."

Her replies were short, telling him that she didn't want to talk about it, but he needed answers. It was the only way he'd unravel her mystery.

"How?"

"James was his…" she seemed to be searching for the right word, "…twin."

"His twin?"

"They were identical."

James and this doctor were twins? There was more to the story then she was letting on. If they'd been identical twins she wouldn't have had that searching look in her eyes, as if she wasn't quite sure how to describe him. They might've been identical, but there was something else to the story.

"Why do you call him The Doctor?"

"Because that's what he's called."

"Do you know his name?"

"No," she replied, but for the first time her eyes became guarded. If she did know she wasn't about to reveal it.

There were only a few reasons why someone would keep their name hidden. Was he a criminal? Spy? Intelligence? And if so what did that make her?

"How did you meet?"

"He saved my life."

That let out criminal. At least, the vast majority of them. Spy? Doubtful, but still possible. Intelligence? Possibly, but most of them wouldn't risk their lives for just anyone. Her clothes were posh, but he hadn't seen her before she appeared in his flat, which meant that she wasn't terribly important.

"What does he do for a living?"

"He travels."

Abroad? The way she said the word seemed to mean a great distance.

"Travels?"

"And helps people."

Helps people? That could mean any number of things.

"A foreign aid worker?"

"A bit like that. Yeah."

At that moment her dinner arrived and their conversation died down. He gazed out the window mulling over everything he learned.

He wasn't sure what her key unlocked, but it had belonged to man who went by the alias The Doctor. He saved her life and she fell in love with him.

Love. It was nothing more than a dangerous disadvantage. Something Irene Adler had proven to him. A lesson, it seemed, Ms. Tyler had also learned, but perhaps hadn't learned from.

Something happened between her and this Doctor. He could read that from the pain in her eyes. And yet, when he asked about the man's name she wasn't willing to give it up. She was still protecting him.

"Want one?" she asked, breaking his concentration.

He glanced at her. She was offering him a chip.

"No, thank you," he dismissed.

He didn't take to being pulled out of his thoughts, especially for something as ordinary as eating.

"You do eat, don't you?"

"Occasionally."

"Occasionally?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"When I'm not working a case."

"Are you working a case now?"

He was, in a way. He was trying to work out who she was, how she appeared in his flat, and why she'd done it, but he wasn't about to share that information with her.

"Not at the moment."

"All right then." She offered him the chip. "Chip?"

"I'm not hungry."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday. Perhaps."

"Yesterday?"

"I believe so. Yes."

He turned his attention out the window, hoping she'd drop the subject.

"What was it?" she asked.

"What was what?" he inquired, glancing at her.

"You said you ate yesterday. What did you eat?"

"I don't recall."

He turned his attention back to the street outside the window.

"You don't remember because you probably didn't eat anything. I'll tell you what, if you order something I won't have to feed you."

He looked at her. She was smiling, but it was her eyes that told him she was serious and her hand…the one holding the chip.

"Fine," he snapped, motioning to their server.

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	13. The Picture

Mycroft poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down. It hadn't been an especially taxing day, but there were complications. The painting. That had been an unexpected complication. One he trusted his brother would solve.

Sherlock. He hoped his brother wasn't becoming another complication. According to John he was ill, but Mycroft couldn't remember Sherlock ever falling ill. He doubted his brother would allow it. He wasn't sure what reason John would have to make excuses for him.

He took a drink and then gazed into the crackling flames of the fire dancing in the fireplace. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders. He thought his brother's miraculous return from the dead would've alleviated the strain between them, but their relationship remained the same.

Sherlock could be so childish. Holding onto grudges like a schoolboy. He liked to think of himself as one who didn't cater to silly human emotions, as if he was above all that, but when it came down to it he was just as bad as all the rest. He might not allow it to be shown, but, in his own way, he cared for John and Mrs. Hudson while harboring resentment for his elder brother. Of course, he'd never admit to any of that.

Mycroft swirled his brandy, staring into the brown liquid without seeing it, debating his own humanity. He glimpsed it after his brother's death, after what he believed to be his brother's death. _Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. _The problem was, for all his talk, he couldn't help the emotional connection he had with his younger brother.

There were siblings who despised each other and, in a way, they despised each other, but he always tried to look out for Sherlock. Keep an eye on him. Something that started long ago, but it was difficult to get past that wall between them. When he learned of his brother's death that wall no longer mattered and all their arguments seemed trivial.

His phone chimed. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket. A picture. He opened the picture and almost dropped his brandy. His brother, who was supposedly in bed with an illness, was sitting in a restaurant, but that wasn't what surprised Mycroft. It was the blonde.

Sherlock and the blonde were sharing a corner table. He was sitting on her left, gazing at her. She was smiling and offering him a chip. He appeared to be on a date and, under normal circumstances most brothers would be happy, but there wasn't anything normal about Sherlock on a date. It just didn't happen.

Who was she? _Rose. _Was this the Rose John told him about? Was she John's friend? No, the way he'd spoken of her told him that Sherlock's flatmate didn't know her very well. The only other woman who'd become close to his brother nearly bankrupted the country. He couldn't let that happen again. He would find out who she was and put an end to her game.

He typed a message into his phone.

_Find out who she is._

Then he attached the picture and hit send. He should have his answer by morning.

* * *

On the other side of London another man was looking at a similar picture.

"Oh, Sherlock, I am disappointed."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	14. BURN

The chilly evening breeze ruffled Rose's hair. She wished she'd put on a jacket before she jumped through that crack. Her hand gripped Sherlock's arm more tightly and she squeezed up next to him for warmth as they walked down the street. She could feel his discomfort in the way he moved, a slight stiffness to his walk, but she was freezing and unless he wanted to offer his coat he would have to live with her closeness.

A strange chime sounded from Sherlock's pocket, obviously announcing a text, but as he reached for it a scream tore through the night, raising the hair on the back of her neck. In the next moment she grabbed Sherlock's hand and ran toward the sound. Down the street, round the corner, and…she slowed down. Not sure where to go, but Sherlock seemed to know. He pulled her with him as he ducked into an alley.

They both came to an abrupt halt. A man and a woman stood a few meters from them. In the light of a lamp hanging above the back door of the building on Rose's left she could clearly see both of them. The woman appeared to be around her mum's age. She wore serving clothes and Rose realized she'd seen her at the restaurant that she'd been to with Sherlock. The man looked about ten years younger. He wore a heavy coat over a blue shirt and faded jeans. The man held a gun in his right hand, pointed at the woman's head.

Sherlock dropped Rose's hand and took a step toward them. The man's hand gripped the gun more tightly.

"That's a bad idea, mate."

Sherlock stopped.

"Look, you don't have to do this," Rose tried.

She could see how nervous he was. She wasn't sure why he was holding a gun to that woman's head, whether he was robbing her or for some other reason, but she could tell that he really didn't want to be doing it.

"You think?" the man asked, sarcastically.

"You have to do it," Sherlock deduced.

"Has to do it?" Rose asked.

"Don't have a choice, do I?"

So, someone put him up to it and he didn't think he had a choice.

"Why?" Rose asked.

"Because I ain't got the money. If I did I wouldn't be here."

Money. He was going to kill her because he couldn't pay back the money he owed. At that moment Sherlock's pocket chimed. Another text and at the worst possible time. The man eyed Sherlock suspiciously.

"What's that then?" he asked, nervously.

"It's nothing," the detective dismissed without pulling his phone out. "To pay back the debt you owe you must kill this woman. Why?"

"That's what he told me to do."

"He? He who?" Sherlock asked.

Something in Sherlock's voice drew Rose's eyes to him. It was more than curiosity.

"He said I've got to kill her to send a message and then we're even," the man explained, drawing her attention back to the immediate problem.

He was desperate and desperate people were dangerous. They had to stop him. Sherlock was closer, but if he tried to jump the bloke he might shoot the woman before the gun was out of his hand.

"Send a message to whom?" Sherlock asked.

"To you," the man replied.

He was supposed to shoot the woman to send a message to Sherlock? He was mad or whoever put him up to it was. While he was looking at Sherlock she took the opportunity to reach into her pocket, intent on disarming him.

"Me?" the detective asked.

"You're Sherlock Holmes, ain't ya?"

Rose pulled the sonic out, aimed it at the bloke and pushed the button. It emitted the familiar warble, startling the other three people in the alley. The gun in the man's hand sparked with the static charge that the sonic sent though it and in the next moment he dropped it with a yelp of pain.

"What the bloody hell…" but the rest of his sentence was cut off as a shot rang through the night.

She heard the whisper of the bullet as it whizzed by her right ear and into the man's skull. His head jerked back and he crumbled to the ground.

"GET DOWN," Sherlock yelled.

Rose followed him behind a dumpster on the other side of the man's body. She looked around the alley for the woman, but she must have run off.

"Where did that come from?" she asked.

"The roof, across the street," Sherlock said, pointing out the building.

It couldn't have been the police. They would've announced their presence and he'd already been disarmed so they wouldn't have had enough reason to shoot him. Someone wanted that bloke to kill her maybe whoever put him up to it was keeping an eye on him.

"Do you think he was being watched?" Rose asked.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Very good, Ms. Tyler." She couldn't help smiling. He returned her smile and then seemed to think better of it and focused on the building. "Whoever sent him must have been watching to make sure he succeeded."

"You think he was shot because he couldn't go through with it?"

She was the one who disarmed him and because of that he was dead. She glanced at the man's body.

"I wouldn't lose sleep over it." Sherlock caught her eye. "He was willing to kill someone to alleviate his debts."

"He might've changed his mind."

"And if he had the result would be the same."

"You think he would've been shot for not killing her?"

"I believe he would've been shot even if he had."

The sound of police sirens echoed down the street.

"The sirens will have sent the assassin on his way," Sherlock said, standing up.

He walked over to the man's body and crouched down. Rose followed and bent down next to him. On closer inspection the dead man appeared to be about the same age as she was. He hadn't shaved in a few days and he reeked of ale. What could've driven him to kill someone? He said he owed money, but she knew plenty of people who owed money…well, back when she shared a small flat with her mum.

"Who do you think he was?"

"Construction worker, judging from his boots, but he hasn't been to work in a while. Probably lost his job due to his drinking habits," Sherlock said as he searched the man's pockets.

"What makes you say that? I mean, I can smell him, but he might've had to get tanked to go through with it."

"There's the state of his knuckles. He's been in a few pub brawls. Flushing of the cheeks and dry skin indicate a vitamin B deficiency, which is found in a fair number of alcoholics. Either his drinking led to gambling or the other way round." He reached into the man's coat pocket. "Ah." He pulled out…a picture.

She heard a car pull to a stop behind them, but her attention was focused on what Sherlock held in his hand, a printed photo of the two of them. They were sitting together at the same table they shared at the restaurant. The picture couldn't have been taken more than an hour ago. There was a single word written across the front. BURN.

She looked at Sherlock. His brows were drawn together in concern.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

"Sherlock, didn't expect to find you here," a man said.

She stood up and turned around to find Lestrade standing behind them.

"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted. His pocket chimed again. He pulled his phone out and appeared to be reading through the messages.

"And…Rose, was it?" Lestrade asked.

"That's right," she agreed, giving him a smile.

"Dr. Watson's been looking for the two of you."

"Yes, he's been texting," Sherlock replied, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

"What happened here then?" Lestrade asked, nodding at the body.

"He was shot. The building across," Sherlock explained, pointing out the building, "The roof. If you send someone up they might find a shell casing, but I'm afraid the murderer's gone."

"You saw it happen or you just come across the body?"

"We heard a woman scream," Rose supplied.

"A woman?" Lestrade asked, looking around the alley.

"We were walking back from dinner-"

"Dinner?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "What? With him?" He glanced at Sherlock.

"Something wrong with that?" Sherlock asked, indignantly. His phone chimed again. He pulled it out, read the text and returned it, again without replying.

"No…I mean…" Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck. "With him?"

"It wasn't-" Rose began, meaning to explain that it wasn't dinner in the sense that Lestrade thought it was, but Sherlock cut her off.

"We followed her scream to this alley where we found the man whose body you now see holding a gun to a woman's head. Then Ms. Tyler-" His eyes fell on her and he abruptly stopped.

"She, what?" Lestrade asked.

"She told the man to let the woman go and then someone shot him. The woman must have run off and then you lot arrived."

"The rooftop you say?"

Lestrade gazed at the building across the street.

"The rooftop," Sherlock agreed.

The Inspector stepped away to chat with one of the police officers. When he was out of earshot she turned to Sherlock.

"You didn't tell him," she said.

"Tell him that you disarmed a man standing two and a half meters from you with a weapon I've never seen the likes of before? I'm still trying to work out the possibility."

"It's not a weapon. It's a screwdriver."

"That is NOT a screwdriver."

"Thank you, for whatever reason."

"All right now. If you two will come with me I'll get your statements," Lestrade said, walking over to them.

"Actually, Lestrade, I think it would be best if I got her home."

"I need her statement and yours for that matter."

"She just witnessed a murder. She could be in shock. You wouldn't want to be responsible if she passed out while you were taking down her statement, would you?"

"I can call for an ambulance if you-"

"That won't be necessary. I'll have John take a look at her."

"I'll want your statements in the morning." Sherlock started to lead Rose out of the alley. "Hang on," Lestrade said, trailing them. "I'll need her address so I know where to send the car in the morning."

"She'll be at 221B Baker Street," Sherlock called without turning around.

Rose couldn't help glancing over her shoulder. She almost laughed at the stunned look on Lestrade's face.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	15. Disappearance at the Flat

John practically threw the money at the cab driver before flying through the door and up the stairs. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen this coming. She claimed to have appeared in their flat. Why hadn't he questioned her motives? He barreled into the flat.

"Sherlock?" he called.

The living room was empty.

"SHERLOCK!"

He ran into the kitchen. Also empty. He popped his head into his flatmate's room. Empty.

This was bad. Very bad. Had she kidnapped him? Taken him somewhere else to kill him? Different scenarios raced through his mind. Each one worse than the last.

John took the stairs to his room two at a time. He threw open the door. Empty. Blast! Where they hell could she have taken him? He pulled out his phone and typed a message to his friend.

_Where are you?_

He walked back into the living room and glanced around. There didn't appear to have been a struggle, but then John had given him sleeping pills and if he was out, which he should be, Sherlock wouldn't have put up a fight.

Was she working alone or had someone been hanging outside, waiting for an opportunity? One that John had given them by drugging his flatmate and then leaving. Damn!

He raced back out the door and down the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson," he called.

He reached her door as she opened it.

"What's all the shouting about?" she asked.

"Sherlock," John said.

"What about him?"

"Have you seen him?"

"Not since he stepped out with your sister."

"My sister?"

"Yes, I saw them leave about an hour ago."

Wait. What?

"Leave? Together?"

"Yes."

They left together? As in they both walked out the door together? But Sherlock had taken sleeping pills.

"Sherlock left…on his own? About an hour ago?" John stared at the front door without seeing it. So, Sherlock had gone with her of his own accord. Why? And how could he even manage it? He turned back to Mrs. Hudson. "Did they say where they were going?"

"No. I didn't speak to them. I saw them leaving as I opened my door. What's this about?"

"But, you're sure you saw Sherlock walking on his own?"

"Yes." Her face drew into a worried expression. "Is there something wrong?"

"I don't know," John said slowly, trying to work out exactly what was going on.

Sherlock acted irrationally after ingesting the wine from that crime scene. John had put him in bed and then given him sleeping pills. He should've been asleep by now unless…but even if he didn't take the sleeping pills he wouldn't have been in any condition to walk out the door himself. Not without help.

"I know Sherlock can be temperamental, but I'm sure he'll take care of your sister," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Yes," John said, no longer listening. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I'm just going to go have a look for them."

He started toward the door. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he had to find Sherlock. He stepped out and paused to look at his phone. Sherlock hadn't answered his text. He typed another message.

_Are you all right?_

After sending it he glanced up and down the street. Not sure where to begin his search. _An hour ago. _Even if they walked he'd have a hard time catching up to them, but he couldn't just sit at the flat and wait.

He typed in Lestrade's number. The phone rang twice before the inspector picked up.

"DI Lestrade here," the inspector said.

"Lestrade. It's John…Watson," he said.

"Dr. Watson."

"Have you seen Sherlock?"

"No, but I've been tied up with this case. The one that isn't a suicide. Why? Take off on you again, did he?"

"No, I mean…I can't find him, but I don't think he took off."

"I told you he does that sometimes."

"He's not at the flat."

He had to get Lestrade to understand that this wasn't Sherlock taking off. There was something else going on and his flatmate could be in danger.

"And?"

"And, if you recall, he wasn't in any condition to go anywhere."

"You left him alone?"

Of course he hadn't left Sherlock alone. What did Lestrade take him for?

"No. I had to…step out, but I left Rose with him."

"You left Sherlock with your sister?"

She wasn't actually his sister, but he wasn't sure if he should tell Lestrade that…at least, not yet because then he'd have to explain why they lied to the inspector and he didn't have a good reason for that. No, best to keep that as a last resort.

"Yes…I mean no…I mean…I gave him sleeping pills before I left so he should've been asleep, but they're gone."

"You think something happened to them?"

Initially he thought she kidnapped or planned to kill his friend, but now that he knew they left together… She might've pulled a weapon…but then there would've been a struggle.

"Maybe. I mean, I'm not sure. Mrs. Hudson said they left together, but-"

"So, Mrs. Hudson saw them leave together?"

"Yes, but-"

"Hang on." John waited impatiently until Lestrade returned. "There's been a disturbance downtown. I have to go, but I'll keep an eye out for them. How's that?"

Before John could answer, Lestrade hung up. _Fat lot of good you are. _John looked through his texts. Nothing from Sherlock yet. He typed another message.

_Call me._

Then he turned right and began walking down the road. He had no idea where to look, but he had to do something.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome.** :)


	16. Proof

"You know who it is don't you?" Rose asked as they rounded the corner, leaving the police lights behind.

He ignored her as he continued to pull her along with his hand gripping her arm. If he thought she was going to stay in the dark he best think again.

"Tell me what's going on," she demanded, pulling her arm out of his grip.

"It's not important," he dismissed.

She folded her arms and gave him an I'm-not-going-anywhere-until-we-have-this-out look.

"Don't give me that. I can tell that it is," she insisted.

"It doesn't concern you."

"What do you mean, it doesn't concern me? I'm in that picture too. I'd say that makes me part of whatever this is."

He might not want to admit it, but she could see he was concerned. No, more than concerned. He had the same look in his eyes The Doctor got when he saw her aboard that Dalek ship. Whoever this enemy was he or she was dangerous. Very dangerous.

"It's just a picture."

"A picture with the word _burn _written across the front." She gestured toward his pocket where the picture was concealed. "What does it mean?"

"It's proof."

"Proof?"

"Proof of something I've suspected for the past three months."

"Of what?"

"That a man I believed to be dead is very much alive."

"Who?"

"Moriarty."

The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Mor…" Then she remembered. Sherlock's enemy. No, his nemesis.

Sherlock grabbed her wrist and turned her to face him.

"You know him." It was statement.

"No, I don't…" His eyes narrowed. "I mean, I've heard of him. You know, read…about…him."

Not exactly what she meant to say, but his eyes demanded the truth.

"Have you met him?" Sherlock asked.

She could feel his hand gripping her wrist as his eyes searched hers.

"No."

"Spoken with him?"

"No."

"You only know what you've read about him?"

"Yes," she snapped, growing irritated with his inquisition. "Now, if you don't mind," she pulled her arm out of his grip, "you can let me go."

She rubbed her wrist. Not because it was sore, because it wasn't, but because it was either that or slap him and she knew he was only doing it because Moriarty was so dangerous.

"My apologies, but I had to check."

"Check what?"

"Your pulse. To make sure you weren't lying. He's used people against me before."

So, he'd been checking her pulse while he asked her whether or not she knew Moriarty because he didn't trust her.

"You thought I was working for him?" she accused.

"You did appear in my flat."

Her anger drained and she started to laugh. He glared at her, obviously under the impression that she was laughing at him, which, in a way, she was. What was it with genius' and thinking that everything was about them?

"And you think that was about you?" she asked.

"Wasn't it?" he asked, uncertainty flashing through his strange eyes.

"I told ya you were full of yourself," she said, giving him a playful shove.

He glanced at her hand as if he wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, which almost made her laugh again, until he pulled himself together.

"Then why did you appear in _my_ flat?"

"It wasn't like I was aiming for it. I could've wound up anywhere, Mars even, well, probably not Mars since they always wind up on Earth, but still I couldn't have known I'd wind up in your flat."

He stared at her for a moment, as if he was trying to decide if she'd lost her mind. Whether he believed her or not didn't really matter at the moment because there were more important issues.

"You're not making any sense," he said.

"It doesn't matter. I want to know about that word. You said its proof Moriarty's still alive, but what does it mean? Burn? Burn what?"

"Me."

"You?"

"My life. My…JOHN."

"John?"

He ignored her as he pulled out his phone and began to text. She assumed he was sending John a message since he seemed to be worried about him. _Burn his life. _What did that mean?

He was worried about John so it must have something to do with his friend. No, not just his friend. His life. So, everything he cared about. Wait. Did that mean…

"You think he's going to go after your friends?" she asked.

"I only have one friend," he replied staring at his phone as he waited for…the phone chimed.

"Is he all right?"

"Yes. I'm going to have him meet us at the flat."

He finished typing and then slid his phone back into his pocket.

"So…you want me to come with you?"

"Do you have somewhere else to be?"

"No," she replied, giving him a smile and then lacing her arm through his. "Besides if this Moriarty bloke is coming after your friends you could probably use my help."

"Friend," he corrected.

"What about Lestrade? Isn't he your friend?"

"We work together."

"So? You can't have friends you work with?"

"I didn't say that."

"He likes you." He gave her a disbelieving look. "I can tell. And what about Mrs. Hudson?"

"She's my housekeeper."

"She's not your housekeeper," Rose said in a mock Mrs. Hudson voice before giving him that distracting smile. He returned it and she almost thought he was going to laugh, but then he seemed to think twice about it.

He was guarded. This one. As if he was afraid to let anyone in. She hadn't known him long or John for that matter, but she was beginning to consider them both friends. And the last thing she was going to do was leave them when they needed help the most.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	17. Dates and Screwdrivers

John was sitting on the sofa keeping an eye on the door when he heard them making their way up the stairs. Rose was laughing, which only proved to make him more annoyed. He'd searched for them for nearly forty minutes before Sherlock finally sent him a text, but was it a reply to one of the many John had sent him? No, it was to ask where he was.

They opened the door and stepped inside. Sherlock first, followed by the girl. He was on his feet in the next moment.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"Well, hello to you too," Rose said, giving him a smile, but one he refused to return.

"Dinner," Sherlock replied.

John's mouth dropped open as all the gears in his mind screeched to a halt.

"Dinner?" he asked.

Sherlock took off his coat and tossed it on the back of a chair.

"And murder, but that came later," she added.

"Murder?" but that jumped to the back burner. "Hang on. You two had dinner?"

"Yes, John, we had dinner," Sherlock said, flopping down in his chair.

John stared at his flatmate, completely stunned. In all the time he'd known Sherlock he hadn't shown the slightest interest in the opposite sex with the exception of one woman and she had been quite…unusual. And dangerous. The woman standing in front of him was a bit odd, what will all that appearing in the flat nonsense, but other than that she seemed…nice.

"Together?"

"Isn't that usually how it's done?" Rose asked. "I'm going to put the kettle on."

John watched her disappear into the kitchen still trying to get his mind around the idea.

"Together?" he repeated.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"Sherlock asked.

Hang on. Other people knew about this?

"Everyone? Everyone who?"

"You…Lestrade…" Sherlock waved his hand. "Honestly. You'd think I'd never gone to dinner with anyone before."

"You haven't. At least, I didn't think you had."

"We've gone to dinner together," he replied, gesturing between him and John.

"Yes, but that's different."

"I don't see how."

Did he really mean that? He took in his friend's demeanor, maybe he didn't know.

"You…I mean, you realize what going to dinner with a woman means, don't you?"

"It means that they order food and partake in conversation."

"Yes, but there's more to it than that."

"Like what?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him.

"When you take a woman out for dinner it means you're taking her on a date."

Sherlock bolted forward.

"A WHAT?"

"Shhh, keep your voice down," John hissed, trying to not laugh at his friend's shocked face.

Rose popped her head in the room.

"All right in there?"

"Yeah, fine, we're just…um…having a chat," John said.

"Do you two want tea? It's almost ready."

"Sure. Thanks."

"Sherlock?" she asked, but he was staring at John.

"He'll have a cuppa too," John supplied, realizing Sherlock either hadn't heard or was incapable of speech at the moment.

She vanished back into the kitchen.

"No," Sherlock finally managed in a low whisper.

"Yes," John said.

"But I can't have…I mean, we can't have…" he said, looking as if someone just told him Mycroft moved in downstairs and would be taking tea with them every morning.

"I'm afraid so," John replied, trying to not laugh.

"Are you sure?"

"Did you pay?"

"Yes."

"There you have it," John said, clapping his hands together.

Sherlock sat back and appeared to be lost in thought, but John wasn't going to let him get away with that. Not after all the worrying he'd gone through.

"So, how was it?"

"How was what?" Sherlock asked in that only paying half attention sort of way.

"Your first date?" John inquired, giving him a smile.

"That's not funny, John."

"It's a bit funny."

"Not at all."

"Actually…" He trailed off as Rose brought the tea out of the kitchen.

She sat the tray down. John picked up his cup, but Sherlock's eyes were trained on the girl. She picked up her cup.

"Was it a date?" Sherlock asked.

Rose had taken a drink of her tea and nearly spit it out.

"Sorry?" she asked, after her chocking subsided.

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"You and I. Dinner. Was it a date?"

She gave him a flirtatious smile…Flirtatious? With Sherlock? John shook his head. He glanced at his friend and he could see his flatmate trying to work out why she was smiling at him like that. He held back a laugh, turning it into a cough instead.

"Did you think it was a date?" she asked.

"No."

"Then it wasn't."

"See, John, I told you it wasn't a date," Sherlock said with a smile as he picked up his tea.

"But you said you two had gone to dinner?" John asked.

"We did go to dinner." She turned to Sherlock. "Did you tell him about the murder?"

"Murder?" John asked and then remembered she mentioned that before he was sidetracked by the idea of his flatmate going out on a date.

"When we were walking back from the restaurant we heard a woman scream. We found her, but there was this bloke holding a gun to her head. I disarmed him, but-"

"You?" John asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, me. What? You don't think I could?"

"No…I mean…It's just…" He trailed off trying to think of the right way to put the fact that she didn't exactly look like she was capable of disarming a man desperate enough to pull a gun on someone, but there really was no right way to say it.

"I can assure you that Ms. Tyler did indeed disarm him."

"Anyway, the woman was able to get away, but someone had been watching him and after I disarmed him he was shot."

"Shot?"

"A single bullet to the head," Sherlock supplied.

"And you saw it happen?" John asked, looking at Rose.

"Kind of hard not to since he was standing right in front of me. Mind you that bullet came pretty close. I heard it pass by me."

"And you…are you alright?" John asked, trying to decide if he should check her over or not.

"Me? Yeah," she said, waving his concern off.

"Ms. Tyler is perfectly fine," Sherlock insisted.

"Perfectly fine?" John asked. "You do realize that witnessing a murder isn't a common occurrence for most people."

"I'm fine," she insisted. John looked at her. "Really." She turned to Sherlock. "Show him the picture."

"What picture?" John asked.

"It's in my pocket," Sherlock said, pointing at his coat on the back of the chair she was sitting in.

She reached into the pocket and pulled out a folded paper. John took it and unfolded the paper. It was picture of Rose and Sherlock and they appeared to be…

"Not a date?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as he glanced between them.

"No," Sherlock insisted.

He looked at the word written across the front. A word he remembered one person saying.

"Moriarty," he said.

"Precisely."

For the last three months Sherlock had been accumulating evidence that his nemesis was still alive. John thought he was fixating and seeing fires where there wasn't even smoke. Moriarty was dead. He shot himself. Sherlock watched him pull the trigger after putting the gun in his mouth. People didn't come back from that.

Sherlock pointed out that John had seen him jump from the top of a building and believed he was dead, but John had been pretty far away. Sherlock had been right there when Moriarty killed himself.

He read the word again. BURN. It seemed, once again, Sherlock was right. Moriarty was alive and he wasn't just coming after Sherlock. He was coming after all of them.

"That reminds me. I wanted to have a look at your…" Sherlock trailed off.

John looked at his friend thinking his flatmate was talking to him, but he was holding his hand out to Rose.

"My what?" she asked.

"The weapon you used to disarm that man."

Weapon? She had a weapon? And that's what she used to disarm that bloke. That made more sense than what John had imagined, which had to do with her jumping some crazed nutter with a gun.

"I told you it's not a weapon. It's a screwdriver," she said, setting her cuppa down to reach inside her pants pocket. She pulled out a long thin futuristic looking lamp with a blue light at the end.

"This," Sherlock said, taking the offered device, "is not a screwdriver."

"Sonic screwdriver, actually," she said.

"Sonic?"

"It's-"

"I know what sonic means," Sherlock cut in.

He looked it over, turning it in his hands. He had that look. The one that told John he'd love to dissect the device to find out how it worked and John wondered if he'd have to take it away before Sherlock started tearing it apart.

"How does it work?" his friend asked.

"It has different setting. You just pick the setting you need, point it, and hold the button down. It can't do everything, mind you. Not like The Doctor's, but it can do-"

"The Doctor?" Sherlock asked, eyeing her. "He has one?"

"Well, yeah. That's where the idea came from. I mean, James wouldn't have wanted one if The Doctor hadn't…" she trailed off with a look of having said more than she meant.

"If The Doctor hadn't what?"

Who was this doctor they were talking about? Sherlock was discussing him as if he'd heard the title before, but what sort of person went by a title instead of a name? John was a doctor, but he didn't go around making people call him The Doctor.

"Hadn't…you know…left and taken his with him."

"Where did James get it?"

"He made it."

"This?" Sherlock asked in disbelief. "He made this?"

"Yeah. He was always working on one thing or another, but that…" she pointed at the…screwdriver? Is that what she called it? He had to agree with Sherlock. It looked nothing like a screwdriver. "That was the first thing he made."

"How does it work?" Sherlock asked, looking it over again.

"You just push the button and…" But before she could finish her explanation Sherlock pushed the button and the lamp on his side table sparked. John jumped from the sofa.

"What the hell…?" he yelled.

Rose laughed.

"Give it here before you burn the flat down," she said, holding her hand out. "I'll show you."

Reluctantly, Sherlock handed the…there's no way that's a screwdriver…over.

"Like I said, it doesn't do everything," she said, gazing around the room as if she was searching for something. "I know."

She seemed to be turning the top and then reached into Sherlock's coat.

"What are you…?" Sherlock asked, but trailed off as she pulled his phone out. "That's my phone."

"And the battery's half gone, like I thought." She pointed the device at his phone and pushed the button. It emitted a strange warbling noise. She released her finger and the noise stopped. "There. Fully charged."

She handed the phone over to Sherlock. He looked at it. John leaned over and gazed at the full battery in disbelief.

"It charges phones?" he asked.

"Batteries actually and a few other things."

John wondered just what the other things were.

"Like disarming people," Sherlock supplied.

"Shoots a static charge through guns, yeah."

"Why would you need something like that?" John asked.

"It comes in pretty handy," she replied with a shrug that told him he wasn't going to get a more elaborate answer. She slid the screwdriver back in her pocket.

He let the matter drop, but decided to keep an eye on her. He'd known Sherlock long enough to be able to tell that his friend was intrigued by this mysterious woman. It wasn't just the mystery surrounding her. There was something else. Something that caused his friend to glance at her when her attention was elsewhere.

* * *

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	18. Subject Unknown

Mycroft walked out the door and toward the black sedan parked next to the curb. He hadn't heard anything about the blonde yet, but he should be getting the information any minute. She was up to something. Must be. It was the only thing that made sense, although he still couldn't figure out why John lied about her.

Sherlock's roommate had always had his brother's best interests at heart, even when they went against Mycroft, which they usually did because of Sherlock's relationship with the elder Holmes. Actually, because of his brother's childishness, but that was another matter.

His driver opened the door. Mycroft climbed into the back beside Anthea. He'd upped the security around Sherlock until he found out exactly who that blonde woman was and what she wanted.

"Has my brother left the flat yet?" he asked.

"You're brother?" Anthea asked, giving him a quick glance as she typed into her phone.

"Sherlock."

"Oh," she returned to her texting. "No. There hasn't been any movement outside his flat."

Mycroft's phone chimed as the car pulled out. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his mobile. Finally, he would have answers. He read the text, his eyes narrowing.

_Subject unknown._

Unknown? That wasn't possible! Her face had been run through the most advanced software available. He should've at least been given a name, even an alias. She was clever, but he wasn't about to give up that easily.

"Change of plans," he said.

"Sir?" Anthea asked, only paying half attention.

"I need you to pick up a certain doctor and bring him to me."

"What doctor?"

"Doctor Watson."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to find out what he's hiding about a certain blonde."

"What blonde?"

He ignored her as he began typing a message to Sherlock's flatmate. He wanted answers and he would get them one way or another.

_I'm sending the car._

He only had to wait a minute for John's reply.

_Sherlock's not ready._

Mycroft typed a reply.

_Send him ahead. The car is for you._

He slid the mobile back into his pocket. He wasn't sure what was going on with the blonde and what Sherlock and John knew about her, but it was better to keep his brother in the dark until he found out what she wanted. The last woman who showed interest in Sherlock tried to use both of them. He wasn't about to let this one follow in her footsteps.

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	19. Basement Flat

"Here you go," John said, handing Rose a cuppa.

"Thanks," she said, blowing on the top before taking a drink.

She hadn't been up for very long. She probably would've gone on sleeping if the kettle hadn't woke her.

"Sleep all right?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"The sofa isn't very comfortable."

"I've slept on worse," she said, thinking about all those times she'd wound up stuck on some alien planet or distant spaceship because the Doctor thought it was more fun to not know where they were going.

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't push her to elaborate, something she was grateful for because she didn't want to lie to them, but at the same time she didn't want them to think she'd lost her mind.

"Damn!" Sherlock shouted from the kitchen, slamming his hand on the table.

"He all right?" Rose asked.

"He does that," John dismissed.

"What's he doing in there?"

"Analyzing the ink from the picture."

"Still on that then?"

He started going over the picture last night. Checked it for prints, then the paper compound, rattled off everything he could tell from the writing. She wondered if he got any sleep.

"I'm sure something will turn up," she said.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"What do you mean?"

"Last time Moriarty went after Sherlock I watched my friend jump off a building."

That must have been horrible. She couldn't help reaching her hand out to give his a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't think Moriarty's going to kill him."

"No, he already tried that and it didn't work. Now, he's going to burn Sherlock's life. I'm afraid of what Sherlock will do to stop him."

"What does he have against him? I mean, I know Moriarty's a criminal and all, but why him?" She nodded toward the kitchen.

"It's like he thinks Sherlock's the only one who could stop him."

"Why?"

At that moment John's phone chimed. He picked it up off the side table and read the text. His eyebrows drew together in annoyance.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, just Mycroft," he replied, typing a message.

"Mycroft?"

"Sherlock's brother."

John went to set his phone down, but it chimed again. He read the text and let out an exasperated sigh.

"What is it?"

"Mycroft. He wants to talk to me."

"About?"

"Who knows. With him I can never tell. Probably something to do with Sherlock."

"I thought you two were supposed to have a look round the auction house?"

"He'll have to go without me," John said, taking a drink of his tea and then he seemed to consider something. "What's on your schedule for today?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sure you have to get back to your…family?"

She held back the wince that wanted to come. It was easy to forget that she was marooned on a parallel world and she'd likely never see her family again.

"John," Sherlock chastised as he stepped into the room. "And you say I'm insensitive."

"What?" John asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't what obvious?"

"She hasn't tried to contact anyone since she appeared in our flat. Hasn't spoken about her family. Hasn't spoken about anyone from her past with the exception of a few questions I asked."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she's on her own," Sherlock deduced, flopping down on the sofa.

"On your own?" John asked, looking at her with a mixture of shock and concern. "What happened?"

This was not the conversation she wanted to have. How could she explain that she'd had to jump through a crack in reality to save them? That she was now stuck on a parallel world alone?

"I…had to leave."

"Had to?"

"They were in danger and the only way to save them was for me to leave."

"What sort of danger?" Sherlock asked.

"It's…not something I can talk about," she lied, knowing there was no way to explain the situation without coming off sounding like a complete nutter.

"Was someone after you?" John asked.

"No, nothing like that."

At the moment Mrs. Hudson entered the flat. Rose was grateful for the interruption.

"John, there's a car for you," Mrs. Hudson said.

"A car?" Sherlock asked as John stood up.

"Mycroft," John said. "I'll meet you at the auction house."

"The auction house?"

"Stolen painting, remember?"

"I'm far too busy for that," Sherlock dismissed.

"You best get un-busy. I'm not covering for you again and after last night you owe me."

"Fine," Sherlock snapped. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson?" She'd been about to walk out the door, but she turned around. "Ms. Tyler would like to rent the basement flat."

"She would?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"I would?" Rose asked at the same time.

"She's in need of a place and I'm sure John would like his sister close by, wouldn't you John?"

But John had already left. Rose rolled her eyes. Eventually someone was going to figure out that she wasn't John's sister. She wondered what story he'd make up when that happened.

"I can show it to you if you want to have a look," Mrs. Hudson offered.

"That's an excellent idea," Sherlock said. "I have to go have a look round an auction house, but I'll be back in a few hours."

He stood up and Rose followed suit. She did need a place to stay and at least she'd be in the same building as the only people she really knew here. As Sherlock passed her on his way to the kitchen he leaned close to her ear.

"Keep an eye on her, would you?" he asked.

She knew for all his talk about only having one friend he cared about Mrs. Hudson and now that Moriarty was back he worried that his nemesis might go after her.

"I will," Rose promised. "Basement flat, is it?" she asked, following Mrs. Hudson out the door.

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	20. Interrogation

"Sherlock's on his way to the auction house to have a look round," John said, taking a seat in the chair as Mycroft leaned against his large wooden desk. "I've filling him in on all the-"

"That's not why I wanted to see you," Mycroft interrupted.

"It's not?" John asked in confusion.

"No."

"Why did you want to see me then?"

When Mycroft sent him a message saying he was sending a car John assumed it had to do with the stolen painting. Was the elder Holmes still worried about Sherlock being ill?

"The woman."

"Woman?" John asked.

What woman?

"The blonde."

"Blonde?"

He had no idea what Mycroft was talking about. This was the first he'd heard about any blonde.

"John, don't toy with me."

"I'm not." Mycroft narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. "Honestly. I don't know what you're talking about."

"The blonde woman my brother was seen having dinner with last night."

The blonde woman that…Then he realized who Mycroft was talking about.

"Rose?"

"That's what you called her."

"That's her name."

"Is it?" Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows.

What the hell did he mean by that? That was her name. At least, it's the one she'd given him and Sherlock.

"Yes. That's what she said."

"Rose what, exactly?"

"Tyler. Why?"

"Rose Tyler," Mycroft mused. "Where did you meet her, and this time the truth."

"Why?" John asked, but the elder Holmes didn't answer. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"I'm merely interested in my brother and his…relationships."

His flatmate wasn't in a relationship and, even if he was, John certainly wasn't going to discuss that with Mycroft.

"Sherlock isn't in a relationship."

"Isn't he?"

"No. They went to dinner. That's all."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"I've seen the picture, John."

Wait. The picture? The one that Sherlock found at that crime scene? Was Mycroft the one who set that up?

"It was you," John deduced, shooting an accusing finger at the elder Holmes.

"Me?" Mycroft asked, taken back.

"You said you've seen the picture. I know Sherlock didn't show it to you so you must've been the one…How could you do it?"

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about," Mycroft said, putting his hands up in surrender.

"The crime scene. The picture in that bloke's pocket."

"What picture?"

"The picture. You said you've seen it."

"A picture my security detail took last night. They sent it to my mobile."

"Let me see it," John demanded.

Demanding things wasn't something he usually did, at least, not with Mycroft, but he had to know if it was the same picture. There wasn't much he wouldn't put past the elder Holmes, but he didn't want to believe that Sherlock's brother would stage the comeback of London's most infamous criminal.

Mycroft shot John a reproachful look, but obliged by pulling his mobile out, bringing up the picture, and then handing his phone to John who then gazed at the picture. The angle was different, but it must have been taken at about the same time as the one in Sherlock's flat.

"Now, what is this about?" Mycroft insisted as John handed the mobile over.

"Moriarty," John said.

"What?"

"He's back."

"But…" Mycroft's eyes widened. "He's dead."

"Apparently not."

Mycroft leaned his hands back against the desk and eyed John.

"What happened?"

"There was a bloke holding a gun to a woman's head. He said he was told to kill her to send a message to Sherlock."

Mycroft pondered John's explanation for a moment.

"Why her? Who was this woman to my brother?"

"Just a server in the restaurant they'd been to," John dismissed.

"Then what happened?"

"Rose disarmed him," John said.

"The blonde?" Mycroft asked, in surprise.

"Yes, but someone shot him. Sherlock thinks he was being watched."

"And the picture?"

"It was in his coat pocket."

"What makes him think it was Moriarty?"

"The word Burn was written across the picture."

"Burn?"

"It's something Moriarty said when he strapped that bomb vest on me. He told Sherlock that if he didn't leave him alone he'd burn him."

"If Sherlock thought he was dead then why is Moriarty going after him?"

And here was the bit John didn't want to get into. Sherlock had made it a point to leave Mycroft out of his fact gathering, but there was nothing for it.

"He's been accumulating evidence that Moriarty's alive."

Mycroft seemed lost in thought for a few minutes, then he caught John's eye.

"The blonde…Rose…She was with Sherlock when he found the picture?"

"Yes, but I don't think she has anything to do with it," John defended.

"Why?" Mycroft asked.

"If she did then why would she have disarmed that bloke?"

"It could've been part of Moriarty's plan."

Part of Moriarty's plan? He planned on having the man he hired killed instead of the woman? That didn't make any sense.

"What do you mean?"

"As long as she's close to Sherlock she could keep an eye on him."

So, having Rose disarm the man would make Sherlock trust her? Okay, he could see that, but not with her. Mycroft was making assumptions without having met her.

"I don't know," John said.

He had some suspicions about Rose, but working with Moriarty? She didn't seem the type. Plus she'd shown them the device she used to disarm that bloke. There was something off about her, but he decided to talk to Sherlock before revealing more information to Mycroft.

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	21. Rose and Mycroft

Rose slid her new mobile into her pocket. Her old phone didn't get a signal in this universe. It would've happened even if it was the superphone, which was what she called the phone that the Doctor did some, in his words, jiggery pokery to so she could call her mum from anywhere or any time. Only, anywhere didn't include other universes.

New universe, new mobile. Although she couldn't use her old phone she was glad she'd found a charger that would work so she could access the pictures. Those pictures were all she had left of her family.

She glanced at her watch, not new, but she had to replace the battery and reset the time. That jump though the crack wiped it out. Two in the afternoon. Not much shopping left to do and if she didn't have to do anymore in a long time it'd be too soon.

She still had to run by the market and pick up some things for herself and Mrs. Hudson. When Sherlock's…no, she correct, _their_ landlady said she needed to run to the market Rose thought it'd be best to keep her at the flat. Safer. So, she told Mrs. Hudson since she had to run by the bank and do a little shopping of her own she'd run by the market as well.

Of course it wasn't the bank she needed to run by. It was the nearest cash machine. She was glad she'd brought the sonic with her, otherwise she'd be broke as well as unemployed. Rose stepped out of the shop to find a well dressed man in his late thirties to early forties standing next to the open door of a black sedan. He gave her a smile, but a business sort of smile. Nothing cheery and welcoming about it.

"I'd like a word, Ms. Tyler," he said.

How the hell did he know who she was? She hadn't been on this world for more than twenty-four hours and there were few people she'd met outside of Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson. She hesitated, deciding the best course of action was to keep her distance until she found out what he wanted.

"I'm sorry, have we me?" she asked.

"No, but we both have someone in common."

"Who's that?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

The first name that popped into her head was Moriarty, but this bloke wasn't Sherlock's nemesis. John had shown her a picture from an old paper when Moriarty had been put on trial and was going by a different name. She glanced over his clothes again. Posh. Very posh. He wasn't the hired gun sort. No, he was the snap fingers and everyone jumps type.

"And?" she asked.

"And I'd like a word."

She could see his growing irritation. People didn't question him, but she wasn't about to climb into some strange bloke's car. She caught movement to her right. A well muscled man in a three piece suit was standing next to the shop she'd just exited. He had an earpiece. She glanced over the car again. Government. What the hell did the government have to do with Sherlock Holmes?

"So, talk," she said.

"I'd rather go somewhere more private."

"I'm sure you would, but if you think I'm going anywhere with someone I don't even know you're wrong and you ought to tell that bloke behind me to back off because if he takes another step towards me I'm going to start screaming and I'm sure the last thing you want is to cause a scene."

His eyes narrowed, but he closed the car door.

"Very well," he snapped, striding toward her.

She stood her ground. She refused to be intimidated by anyone, least of all a pompous government bureaucrat.

"What's your game?" she asked.

"Game?"

"You've obviously been watching me otherwise you wouldn't have known where I was."

He stared at her for a moment as if he was deciding what to say.

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

"Rose Tyler, but you already knew that or you wouldn't have addressed me as Ms. Tyler."

"Who are you really?"

"What?"

"You call yourself Rose Tyler, but Rose Tyler doesn't exist."

So, Rose Tyler didn't exist on this world. Good, in a way because she wouldn't be bumping into a parallel version of herself, but bad if anyone was to do a background check like this bloke must have. Why was he checking up on her?

"I must exist otherwise I wouldn't be standing here."

"Unless you're using an alias."

She laughed.

"An alias? What do you think I'm some sort of spy or something?"

"Possibly," he replied.

He was serious.

"And just who would I be spying on?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

He thought she was spying on Sherlock. Why would he even care? Who was…and then she realized who he must be.

"Mycroft?" she asked.

His eyes widened, but only for a moment.

"Very good, Ms. Tyler."

"I've heard of overprotective families, but this is going a bit overboard."

"Excuse me."

"If you'll excuse me," she said walking away.

"Ms. Tyler," he demanded, starting to follow her.

She rounded on him.

"Look, I get that you care about your brother. That's good, but I'm not going to have you following me around questioning who I am. My name's Rose. Rose Tyler. It's not an alias. It's my name. I'm not going to be part of this creepy little stalker game you've got going on with Sherlock. If you care about him. If you really want to help then I suggest you use all the surveillance you've obviously been using to watch me and find that psycho who's decided to target your brother and his friends. Or is that too much to ask?" she demanded, then she turned on her heels and strode down the street.

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	22. The Woman Who Didn't Exist

He watched the exchange between the blonde and Sherlock's brother from a distance, but thanks to technology he heard every word. Rose Tyler, the woman who didn't exist. He smiled. She was brash and pushy and…fun.

Whose side was she on? Not his. Mycroft was obviously under the impression that she was working for him or he wouldn't have sought her out after what Sherlock's pet told him. Was she on Sherlock's side or her own? That was a question he needed answered.

If she was on her own side he'd have to get rid of her or bring her over to his. If not…well, she did seem like fun.

He'd run his own searches for the blonde and had come up empty handed. Same as Mycroft. That didn't happen. Coming up empty when _he_ ran a search. Her face was nowhere. It was as if before yesterday she didn't exist. No camera footage, images, records. Nothing. The only person he knew of clever enough to do that was himself.

He knew it would be safer to have her brought to him, but if he did that she'd be on her guard and he didn't want that. He wanted to throw her off her game. Toss in some dynamite and see what sort of fish were in the pond.

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	23. Rose and Moriarty

Rose looked over the canned goods on the shelf. She just needed…that feeling came over her. The one she grew to trust while traveling with the Doctor. The one that told her there was something off. She glanced down the aisle without turning her head. First one way and then the other. A man. At the far end of the aisle.

She picked up a can of beans, seeming to read the back as he glanced at her. Moriarty. He was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, trainers, and a ball cap. What did he think he was going to do? Grab her in the middle of the market? No, he wouldn't take that chance and there were people closer to Sherlock than she was. After all, they'd just met yesterday.

If he wasn't there to grab her then what the hell did he want? There was only one way to find out. Let this little game of his play out, but she had the upper hand because she knew who he was.

She grabbed what she needed and then continued down the aisle. His cart was on one side and he was on the other pretending to inspect a can of peaches.

"Mind if I get through," she asked, as politely as she could, giving him a smile when he glanced at her.

"Oh, sorry about that," he said, returning her smile as he stepped aside, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Thanks," she said, as she started past him.

"Have I seen you before?"

She stopped and looked him over, pretending to consider him a moment.

"No, I don't think so."

"Wait, now I remember," he said as if the memory just came to him. "You were at Morgan's last night."

That was the name of the restaurant she'd been to with Sherlock. The same one the server worked at. The one who was almost shot.

"Yeah, you're right, but I don't remember seeing you there."

"I was in the back with my friend, but I remember you," he replied, giving her what might've been a flirtatious smile if it wasn't for the darkness in his eyes. "I would've introduced myself, but you were with someone. Your boyfriend?"

He was fishing for information, but he wasn't going to get any.

"Friend of a friend," she replied.

"Friend of a friend?"

She could tell he didn't believe her.

"Well, It was nice to meet you…" she trailed off not wanting to say his real name.

"Jim," he offered, holding his hand out, "Jim Brook."

A combination of his real name and the alias he'd used. She gave him a smile and took his hand.

"Rose Tyler," she offered, sure he already knew that.

If Mycroft could get her real name, even if he didn't believe it was her real name, then she was sure Moriarty could too.

"Pleasure," he said, still holding onto her hand.

"I'd love to stay here and chat, but I better be going," she said, trying to pull her hand back because touching him made her skin crawl, but he held her in place with a vice-like grip.

"What's your hurry? There's still two hours before the furniture arrives at your new flat."

He was trying to get a rise out of her. She'd seen the picture so finding out he was keeping tabs on her wasn't too surprising.

"It has more to do with the company," she snapped, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

"I'm hurt. Deeply. Oh, wait…no I'm not." His voice changed halfway through, becoming softer, darker, like his eyes. "Showed you a picture of me, didn't they?"

"Look at that, you can be clever," she said, giving him a smile.

He glared at her.

"I don't generally like getting my hands dirty, but I may make an exception for you."

If he thought he was going to intimidate her he had another thing coming.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" she asked, trying to sound bored.

"If you know what's good for you."

"Why? Because you've strapped bombs on people? Shot people? Forced Sherlock to jump off a building?"

"Among other things."

"Sorry to disappoint you _Jim_, but I don't scare that easily. Not anymore."

He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, anger blazing behind his dark eyes.

"Maybe I'll just kill you."

"Maybe, but I doubt it."

"Why?"

"Because that wouldn't be fun. Now, If you don't mind I have more shopping to do," she replied before pushing her cart around the next corner.

She walked halfway down the aisle before she stopped and stood there for a minute trying to regain her balance. She didn't scare easily and no matter what he did she wouldn't let him frighten her, but when she looked into his eyes she searched for any redeeming quality and she couldn't find any. That, in itself, was frightening.

* * *

Moriarty watched her disappear round the corner, a smile spreading across his lips. She was right, of course. He wouldn't simply kill her. She was much to fun for that and she'd be even more fun once he discovered her weakness because that's what he did. Used people's weaknesses against them.

She hadn't been surprised that he was watching her. She'd also known what buttons to press and she hadn't been afraid to press them, even knowing what he was capable of. If it was anyone else he would've thought they were stupid, but she'd done it to try to throw him off his game, which was exactly what he was trying to do to her.

He'd been ready to put his plan into action. To burn the famous detective, but now there were other things to consider. Rose Tyler. The woman who didn't exist. First thing's first. He needed to find out whose side she was on and he knew exactly how to do that.

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	24. The Message

Rose finished washing the last of the dishes and setting them on the drying rack when someone knocked on her door. Moriarty? No, he wouldn't knock. She crossed the living room and opened the door.

"Chinese?" John asked, sporting a wide grin as he held up two bags of takeout. Sherlock stood behind him.

"Sounds great," she said, giving him a smile in return.

She stepped aside and he entered, followed by the consulting detective. She was glad she'd rearranged the furniture in the living room before starting on the rest of the flat.

"Nice," John commented as he sat down on the blue overstuffed sofa. "Oh," he bounced a couple times, "comfy."

Sherlock flopped down in the armchair while John began laying out the takeout cartons.

"We weren't sure what you liked so we got a bit of everything," John said.

"It looks great. I'll grab some plates," she said.

She walked into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and pulled out three plates. She hadn't been expecting the company, but she was grateful. Back on Pete's World she had friends, but she hadn't spent a lot of time with them since James died because they weren't just her friends, they'd been his too and she didn't want to be reminded about that day.

"John chose a bit of everything. I ordered the sweet and sour chicken and fried rice," Sherlock said.

"I love sweet and sour chicken," Rose exclaimed as she walked back in the room, just in time to see the smug smile on Sherlock's face as he eyed John. "But pork's great too and Chow Mein, you did get Chow Mein didn't you?"

"Of course," John replied, pulling out a carton while eyeing his friend.

She handed out plates and when Sherlock seemed about to refuse one she caught his eye.

"Do we have to go over this again?" she asked in that voice that used to make The Doctor tell her she sounded like her mum.

He scowled, but took the plate without arguing and began picking through the cartons. John just stared at him until Sherlock finally became irritated.

"What?" he snapped.

"It's just…I usually have to threaten to hide both laptops and your violin before you'll eat anything, at least, anything that isn't cakes. What does she have on you?" John asked.

"Nothing."

John turned to Rose. "No, seriously, what do you have on him because I might be able to use it."

"I told him if he didn't eat I'd force feed him. We were sitting at a window booth at the time."

John burst out laughing, nearly dropping his plate.

"Oh, shut up, John," Sherlock snapped.

"I…I…" tears rolled down his cheeks.

Rose couldn't help joining in.

"John!" Sherlock insisted, but John continued to laugh.

"It's not that funny!"

"Yes," John said when he could finally form words. "It really is."

He wiped his eyes.

"Are you two quite finished?"

"Yeah, sorry," Rose apologized, even though she was still smiling.

She busied herself by filling her plate.

"So, how's the case going?" she asked.

"Case?" Sherlock inquired.

"Stolen painting."

"Are you kidding? He had it solved before I got to the auction house. Probably only took him five minutes to figure out what happened," John said.

"Four minutes thirty-six second," Sherlock supplied.

"See?"

"The painting wasn't actually stolen," Sherlock explained.

"It wasn't?" she asked.

"Never left the auction house."

"So, they misplaced it?"

"No, it would've been sold, but for a lot less than its actual value."

"How's that?"

"Someone had wrapped the canvas of another painting, a less valuable painting, around the stolen one," John supplied.

"So the less valuable painting is sold, all legal like, and some time later they accidentally discover the stolen painting."

"Precisely. If the painting wasn't sold on the black market," Sherlock explained, sitting back with a satisfied smile on his face.

"Did you catch whoever did it?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, as if that should've been obvious.

"It was the owner's daughter and her boyfriend," John said. "He was her alibi, but because he didn't have any ties to the auction house they might've gotten away with it."

"Serves them right, peppermint licorice tea. Who drinks that?" Sherlock asked.

John gave a revolted shiver.

"No one I know." At Rose's questioning gaze he added, "There were traces of it on the canvas."

"All that in four minutes thirty-six seconds?" she asked. "Impressive."

She allowed the smug smile. After all, he recovered a stolen painting in less than five minutes. If anything deserved a smug smile it was that.

They ate in silence for a bit before Rose decided she better let them know about her little run in. She knew if she didn't say anything Sherlock was bound to figure it out eventually and she didn't want them to think she was keeping things from them.

"So, I met your…friend?...no, he's definitely not your friend, but nemesis sounds a bit superhero-ish, don't you think?" she inquired.

"Moriarty?" John and Sherlock asked in unison as they both nearly bolted up.

"Whoa," she said, trying to calm them down. She expected some kind of reaching, but not in the rushing to arms sort of way. "He's not in the room. Honestly." They settled back down. John was looking at her as if she might have some injury he hadn't assessed. Sherlock, on the other hand, was giving her the same look the Doctor got when he didn't want anyone to know what he was thinking. "I'm still here, see? Completely fine."

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"Yes. I'm fine. Really."

"What happened?" Sherlock asked in that calculating tone he got when he was trying not to betray any emotion.

"I ran into him when I was at the market, which, I know, wasn't an accident, but I'd seen him ahead of time so he didn't surprise me. First he pretended to have seen me at that restaurant with you, but then, I don't know, I think he must have realized that I knew who he was or, maybe he got board, but he basically told me he knew where I lived and that he'd been watching me."

"Watching you?" John asked.

"I already knew that. How else would he know where I was?"

"Oh. Right."

"What else did he say?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing much."

"Ms. Tyler," he insisted.

She rolled her eyes.

"Just the usual threatening to kill me sort of thing, but he was just trying to scare me."

"You don't know what he's capable of," John said.

"Between what the two of you told me I know exactly what he's capable of."

"And that doesn't frighten you?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course it scares me. I'd be an idiot if it didn't, but I'm not going to let him intimidate me. Moriarty might be a crazy psychopath, but in the end he's just a man. Believe me, I've faced worse."

"I believe you have," Sherlock replied in that voice that told her he'd figured something out.

"All right, that tears it," John said, tossing his napkin on the table. "Get your things. You're staying with us."

"I'm not going to let anyone make me leave my own place," she argued.

"Fine," he turned to Sherlock, "grab my things I'm staying here. Are you in?"

"John," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "I don't need you two protecting me. I can take care of myself."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm not taking that chance."

"I have my sonic. If anyone comes in with a gun I can disarm them."

"Now, look-" John began, but was interrupted when Rose's phone chimed.

A text? Who would be texting her? Who could? She hadn't given her number to anyone yet. Whoever it was had to have mistyped the number, but she reached into her pocket out of curiosity.

"That's new," Sherlock commented.

"Yeah, there was something wrong with my other one," she replied, not wanting to get into the real reason she had to replace her phone, before reading the text.

_Tradsies_

_You for his brother._

_The Market 10:15_

_Jim Moriarty x._

The Market? He must be talking about the market where she ran into him. His brother? Whose…_Sherlock_. She glanced at the consulting detective. He was staring at her…no reading her. Observing. _Damn! _

"Who's that?" John asked.

"Oh, um…wrong number," she replied, stuffing her phone back in her pocket before John could see the text.

Moriarty was holding Mycroft. Sherlock's brother might be a pompous git, but he was her friend's brother, and family, even overbearing, overprotective brothers were still important.

Moriarty wasn't going to kill her. He could've done that already, but she wasn't quite sure why he wanted to trade her for Mycroft. The only thing she did know for sure was that she couldn't let John or Sherlock find out what she was about to do.

"Wrong number? On a new phone?" Sherlock asked.

"They probably typed the number in wrong," she said, shrugging the question off.

It was nine forty. The market wasn't too far off. It'd only take about twenty minutes to get there, less if she ran the entire way, but she didn't want to wait till the last minute. She had to get out of her flat, but after telling them about her run in with Moriarty it was pretty clear that John wouldn't want her to leave on her own.

"I understand that you don't want anyone to run you out of your place," John said, picking up where he left off before her phone interrupted him. "But if Moriarty's watching you then he might be targeting you. He did have someone take that picture of the two of you."

"I know you're worried, John, but I really don't think he's targeting me," she said.

She had a sudden thought to agree with him. Tell him she'd stay at their place, get them out the door, and then sneak out somehow, but Sherlock was still looking at her as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. She knew there was no way he'd believe she suddenly changed her mind. She almost sighed, but caught herself.

"Why else would he have accidentally run into you at the market?" He turned to his friend. "Sherlock? Help me out here."

"Wrong number?" Sherlock asked.

She almost rolled her eyes. He knew something was wrong. That she was hiding something and he wasn't about to let it go. She had to think of something and quick.

"People do get wrong numbers," she replied, trying to sound a bit irritated, but not in the I'm-hiding-something sort of way.

"Not often in message form."

"I've gotten one," John said and she could've kissed him.

"Really?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, something about picking my dog up."

"You haven't got a dog."

"That's how I knew it was a wrong number."

"You boys can keep talking about wrong numbers if you want, but I'm going to go change."

"Change?" Sherlock asked.

"It's nearly ten and I was planning on going to bed early tonight. John, if you're going to insist on staying over you might want to bring a pillow down. I forgot to buy extras. I wasn't exactly planning on having anyone over," she said and then stood up.

"Okay. Right. I'll be back in a minute then," John said, standing up.

She could feel Sherlock watching her as she walked into her room and closed the door. She leaned her back against the closed door. He knew something was going on. It was only a matter of time, and probably not much, before he figured out who the text was from. She hated lying to them, but it was the only way she was going to save Mycroft and she'd already figured out that for all of Sherlock's talk he really did care about the people in his life.

She pulled her sonic out, pointed it at the door handle and pushed the button. Even with Sherlock's lock picking skills, something John told her about last night, he wouldn't be able to unlock that door. Of course if she made it home she'd probably find her bedroom door off its hinges, but some things couldn't be helped.

The basement window was small. She wasn't even sure if she'd fit. There was only one way to find out. She grabbed the side table, sat it under the window, climbed up, and opened the window. Then she grabbed the sill and pulled herself up. She wriggled through the opening. It was tight, but she finally managed to half wriggle, half crawl out of the window.

She stood up and bolted down the street, knowing that it wouldn't be long before Sherlock and John figured out that she was gone. She only hoped they would be able to forgive her, that is, if she ever made it back to her flat.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	25. Where Is She?

John opened the door and was about to step into the hall when he was stopped by Sherlock's question.

"John, where are you going?"

He almost said _Isn't it obvious? _But stopped himself.

"To get my pillow," he replied.

"No," Sherlock said, standing up.

"No?" John asked, wondering what his friend meant by that.

Sherlock crossed the room and stopped in front of Rose's bedroom door.

"Sherlock?"

The detective ran his hand along the door above the handle.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked.

John just stood there watching him, still holding the other door open.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm…checking…"

Sherlock trailed off, leaning his cheek against the door as if he was listening to something.

"What the hell are you doing?" John snapped, throwing the door closed and striding across the room, wondering if this was going to be the second time he punched his friend. "Are you listening while she changes her clothes?"

"She isn't-"

John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him away from the door.

"I can't believe you!" John growled, fighting the urge to throttle his friend.

"What's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into you? Listening to her get undressed-"

"What? I wasn't listening to her get undressed, John!"

"Really? You had your ear pressed up to her bedroom door for another reason?"

"Yes."

John stared at him for a minute. He seemed sincere, but then he'd just had his ear…

"Then what the hell were you doing?"

"Listening-"

"That's exactly what I said you were doing!"

Sherlock made his way back to the door during their conversation and John had about half a second to realize what his friend was doing before Sherlock's shoulder connected with the door, wood splintered and the door flew open.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, not sure if he should cover his eyes, his friend's eye, or punch Sherlock in the face. Politeness won out and he covered his eye.

"Just as I thought!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Oh, god, she's naked isn't she. Look, Rose, I'm sorry I didn't-"

"She's gone. Out the window," Sherlock interupted.

"What?"

John looked, half expecting her to be standing in the room naked, but she hadn't screamed. His friend was right. The side table was stationed under the window, which was open.

"How the hell did she fit through that window?"

"The question is…Who is she sneaking out to meet?"

"Sorry?"

"That message wasn't from a wrong number."

"Who do you think it was from?"

"Moriarty."

"Moriarty? Are you sure?"

"Her phone's new. I'd say she got it today and since she hasn't tried to contact her family or anyone from her past and we seem to be the only people she knows here then who would have her number?"

"You think she gave her number to Moriarty?"

"No, I think Moriarty either took or searched for her number. He's the only person she crossed paths with outside of us."

"And you think she ran out to meet him?"

"I believe so."

"Why?"

"I don't have an answer for that question."

John stared at the open window. She was meeting Moriarty. Why? Was Mycroft right? Where they working together?

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	26. The Only Person She Fooled Was Herself

Rose crouched in the building's shadow. She could see Moriarty in the parking lot. He leaned back against his black sedan, or it might've been Mycroft's sedan. She wasn't sure.

She glanced at her watch. Five after ten. He was early, probably laying in wait for her. She'd come up the back, hoping to avoid being detected.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Moriarty called, his eyes darting to her hiding place.

_Brilliant! _The only person she fooled was herself. She should've known he'd be watching every available entrance. There was nothing for it. She stood up and stepped into the empty parking lot.

"So good of you to join us," he said, giving her a smile.

"Where's Mycroft?" she asked.

"He's here," Moriarty patted the rear window before straightening and taking a step toward her. "I thought we could have a little chat first."

"I want to see him."

Moriarty sighed. "Fine." He opened the back door. Mycroft was sitting in the seat with his hands tied and tape over his mouth. He looked at her and his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to figure out why she was there. Moriarty bent down next to him. "That tape's really going to hurt when you pull it off, but it really couldn't be helped." He stood up and gazed at Rose. "He was doing a whole lot of this…" He mimed chatting. "And it was either the tape or a bullet to the head and, although, I really was considering the bullet I thought that might put a damper on our little chat." He stood up and closed the door.

"I'll talk to you after you let him go," she insisted.

"Um…" He looked up as if he was thinking about her request. "…no. First we'll talk and then I'll consider letting him go."

"You agreed to let him go if I came down here."

"No, I offered to trade him for you."

"Then trade."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked toward her, looking her over.

"I'm not sure if I want to."

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

He was the one who sent her the offer. She was there so obviously she was willing to go through with it and now he was changing his mind? She watched him. No, he was toying with her. Trying to get a rise out of her.

"Why don't we start our little chat with you telling me about yourself?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm interested and that doesn't happen very often, but I'm interested in you because you, Rose Tyler, don't exist. Not simply your name, but your image. No camera footage, no pictures, nothing. It's as if you popped into existence yesterday."

_I did pop into existence yesterday, at least, on this world. _She couldn't say that. She definitely couldn't say that. He'd either think she was a complete nutter, which wouldn't bother her in the least, or…he'd believe her and that would be bad. Very bad.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he replied with a gleeful grin, one that made him seem like a shark about to devour his prey. "You're from Cardiff, mid to late twenties, with a working class background, but other than that you're a complete mystery and I must say that doesn't happen very often. Not to me." He walked around her, looking her over. "So, tell me what do you do for a living? I want to say soldier, but that's not quite right."

"I work in a shop."

"No…" he shook his head. "…no…DON'T LIE TO ME…unless you want to see Sherlock's brother with an extra hole in his head because, you see, my driver has a gun pointed at his head. All I have to do is snap my fingers," he lifted his fingers and put them together for effect, "and he's dead. Now, try again."

"I…worked for a company called Torchwood."

"Torchwood? Never heard of it, but it has an interesting ring. What did you do?"

"I went out on assignments."

"Oooh, assignments. That does sound interesting. What sort of assignments?"

"Recovery."

"Recovery of what?"

"Artifacts." Alien artifacts, but she didn't want to say that.

"Artifacts?" he repeated as if it was the most boring thing he'd ever heard. His gazed wondered over her. "No, there's more to it than that." He gazed into her eyes. She held his gaze even though it made her skin crawl. "Oh," he said as if he'd suddenly discovered something interesting. "You have."

"Have what?"

"I was going to ask if you've killed anyone, but I can see that you have. Well, that is something, isn't it? I wonder if he knows." Moriarty smiled. "He doesn't, does he?" His smile turned gleeful. "My, my, my Ms. Tyler. Keeping secrets from Sherlock Holmes. That is naughty."

She was tired of his games. Did he bring her there to question her? He could've taken her at any time if that's all he wanted to do. There had to be some point to this and she didn't want to keep this up for the next hour or so.

"Why don't you tell me what the hell this is all about?" she snapped.

He leaned in next to her ear.

"Can't _you_ figure it out?" he whispered.

A revolted shiver ran down her spine. What was it about? Not questioning her. It wasn't about taking Mycroft either. It wasn't even about the trade. If it had been Mycroft would be free and she'd be in the car with her hands bound.

He sent the text to her. Not Sherlock or John. She made the choice to come. It was about her choice.

"You wanted to see if I'd actually show up. On my own. That's why you sent the text to me. I was the only one who knew, which meant it was entirely my choice."

"Good. Very good." He stepped closer, smiling. "You could've left him with me and no one would've ever known. Not even Sherlock. He probably would've found out eventually, but you could've claimed you had no idea who I was talking about and really, no one would've blamed you. I am who I am."

"I wouldn't do that."

"No, you wouldn't," he said, sounding disappointed. "You suffer from the same weakness as all those ordinary people."

"There's something you ought to know about me."

"What's that?"

As he circled her again she tackled him and in the next moment he was lying on his back on the ground and she was sitting on top of him with her knees bent, pinning his arms to the ground and her forearm against his throat.

"I'm not ordinary."

"Oh, good. Very good," he laughed.

The car door opened and his driver climbed out, gun in hand, pointed at her, but she pulled her sonic and in the next moment the driver's gun sparked, he cursed, and it was lying on the ground.

"Now, that is interesting," Moriarty said. "What is it?"

She pointed her sonic at the driver, ignoring Moriarty.

"Open the door and let him go," she demanded. The driver glanced at Moriarty. "Don't look at him. He can't help you. Let him go or you're going to find out how many volts I can shoot through your body."

She couldn't actually do that, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He quickly opened the door and helped Mycroft out.

"Oh, I'm really liking you," Moriarty said.

"Mycroft, I know you don't trust me, but right now you only have two choices…me or them," Rose explained.

He nodded and she took that as an agreement that he was on her side…for now, at least.

"You, over there," she said to the driver, motioning to the front of the car. When he started moving she glanced at Mycroft. "Grab his gun and then come over here."

He walked over to the gun, bent down, and after a couple attempts finally managed to hold onto it with his tied hands. Then he walked over to where she was. Rose turned her attention on Moriarty.

"Now, I'm going to get up-"

"Do you have to? I rather like it down here."

She ignored his comment.

"You're not going to try anything or you're going to get a shock and I don't mean a small one."

She stood up, slowly, making sure to keep her attention on Moriarty. She waited for him to stand.

"You realize I'm not going to let you leave."

"Get in the car," she ordered. "You too." She motioned toward the driver with her sonic. "I'd like to say it's been a pleasure, but you didn't want me to lie."

She gave Moriarty a smile, which, to her surprise, he returned.

"Oh, but it has been a pleasure and we'll be seeing each other again. Very soon."

He climbed into the back seat and closed the door. She waited until the driver's door closed then she changed the setting on her sonic and used it to lock the doors. She could hear the driver yelling. She changed the settings again and used her sonic to disable the engine. It let out a loud snap and a bit of smoke. Then she grabbed Mycroft's arm, gave him a smile, and started running toward Baker Street.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	27. Double Take

Since you guys have been so brilliant I decided to put up another chapter. Hope you enjoy it! :)

* * *

John raced down the street behind Sherlock. As soon as they found out Rose had snuck out the window they began searching for her. They'd been to the restaurant first, then the alley where she and Sherlock had watched the man gunned down and now they were going God knew where. They weren't even sure she was meeting Moriarty, well, he wasn't sure, but Sherlock seemed positive.

"Do you even know where you're going?" John asked when they paused next to a building while Sherlock looked around as if he was deciding which direction they should run in next.

"Of course I know where I'm going, John," Sherlock snapped.

"Where?"

"We've been to the restaurant where the photo was taken. To the alley where I discovered it."

"And now?"

"And now we're going to check the market where she ran into him."

"Are you sure she's meeting Moriarty?"

Sherlock shot him a look that seemed to say _don't be an idiot_.

"Fine," John continued. "You win. How much further?"

"And here comes my prize," Sherlock said.

"What?"

John looked in the direction Sherlock was gazing and…there was Rose running down the street with…Mycroft? He did a double take. Yep. Mycroft Holmes, expensive three piece suit, running down the road hand in hand with Rose Tyler. What the hell?

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked and John could hear the same shock mirrored in his friend's voice.

"What the hell's going on?"

Instead of answering, his friend stepped out of the shadows, directly in their path. John followed. Rose and Mycroft came to an abrupt halt.

"Sherlock," Rose said in surprise, releasing Mycroft's hand, but the detective's gaze was focused on his brother.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said in an almost accusing tone.

"Sherlock," the elder Holmes greeted, straightening his suit.

"Does someone want to tell me what the hell's going on?" John insisted after a few tense minutes of silence.

"Yes, well," Mycroft began, taking on that authoritative tone. "It seems while you two were doing whatever it is you do, Ms. Tyler saved my life."

"What?" John asked, taken back.

"Moriarty," Sherlock said, as if it should've been completely obvious.

"Moriarty?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

John glanced from Rose to Mycroft then to Sherlock.

"No, not really."

"Moriarty kidnapped Mycroft, sent Ms. Tyler a message informing her, she snuck out to rescue my brother, a feat she obviously accomplished."

"Oh. Right," John said, trying to figure out how Sherlock got all that from watching Rose and Mycroft run down the dark street.

"Precisely," Mycroft said.

_Oh, yes, precisely. _John rolled his eyes.

"If Moriarty kidnapped Mycroft why didn't you tell us?" John asked.

"Because he wanted me in exchange for Sherlock's brother and I didn't think you two would go along with it," Rose explained.

"You were going to trade yourself for _him_?"

She's right. He wouldn't have gone along with it. Sherlock probably would have, or, at least, would have used her in some trap to catch Moriarty.

"I had a plan and, as you can see, it worked out."

She had a plan? She was as mad as Sherlock. He shook his head and glanced at his friend. Wait. Was that…a smile? That's it the entire world's gone round the bend!

"I don't know about you three, but I could use a cuppa," Rose said.

"I could use something a bit stronger," Mycroft said, falling into step next to her. "And I did want to get a look at that device."

John and Sherlock followed.

"Device?" Rose asked, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

"If I were you, Mycroft, I'd delete all knowledge of that device from my memory banks," Sherlock said, striding up on Rose's other side and offering his arm.

Wait. Offering his arm? What the hell's going on? John shook his head. _Must be a dream. This can't actually be happening. _

"Why's that?" Mycroft asked.

"I believe it's the least you can do for the woman you owe your life to," Sherlock replied.

The elder Holmes seemed to consider his brother's proposal.

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"I'm always right."

John thought about pointing out that his friend was always right except when he was wrong, but changed his mind. There were too many thoughts swirling around in his mind. One in particular about a blonde who, in the span of less than two day, had been to dinner with Sherlock, witness a murder, drawn the attention of a notorious criminal mastermind, met said criminal mastermind, moved into the basement flat in their building, and rescued Sherlock's brother. Where had she come from? Who was she really? And, more importantly, why did Sherlock seem different around her?

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	28. Little Red

Rose stepped into her flat and closed the door. She was glad Sherlock waylaid John when, pillow in hand, he attempted to follow her downstairs. After rescuing Mycroft it was obvious she could take care of herself. John, of course, tried to argue the point, but in the end Sherlock won, as he always did. She smiled, well, almost always.

She glanced at her bedroom door, splintered wood, broken door handle. She laughed. The boys would have some work to do tomorrow.

She yawned. It was late. Nearly midnight. Mycroft was gone, having called a car to pick him up, but not before getting into a row with Sherlock…a posh row, which had more to do with barbed comebacks than yelling. She laughed again. Family. When it came down to it they were all alike, posh or not, there was always one who thought they knew best and didn't hold back voicing their opinions. In this case it was Mycroft. Ever the older brother, trying to keep his younger brother in line. _All these different worlds and not one of them gets it right. _Not her words, but they were just as true here as they had been with the Doctor uttered them in the Tyler mansion.

She turned off the lights and then stepped into her room and stopped. The bed she hadn't gotten around to had been put together. Legs screwed into the frame, mattresses on frame resting against the mahogany, sleigh headboard. Sheets, pillows, cases, comforter, all made with the corners tucked in. Sherlock? John? No, after her flight out the window they'd gone looking for her and they hadn't left their flat after they all returned. Someone else had been in her flat.

Lying on her bed was red hooded jacket that appeared to be more cape than jacket. _What the hell? _Her mobile rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at it. Blocked Number.

"Hello?" she asked, putting the phone to her ear.

"Good evening, Ms. Tyler," Moriarty said in that soft, demented voice. He paused as if expecting her to say something, but she refused to play his game. "You aren't surprised to hear from me."

"No, not really."

"Good. I have heard you should wait until the next day before phoning after a date, but I just couldn't wait that long."

A date? She laughed.

"I'd hardly call that a date."

"Really? Well, what would you consider a date?"

"That's something you'll never find out."

"You'd be surprised what I can find out."

She squeezed her eyes shut in irritation wondering whether or not she should just hang up. She opened her eyes and they fell on the red jacket lying on her bed. He'd gotten into her flat. Had to have happened when she was upstairs. He was playing some sort of game with her and she was being forced to play along whether she wanted to or not.

"I see you made yourself comfortable," she said.

"Sorry?" he asked and she couldn't help smiling at the confusion in his voice.

"When you were in my flat."

She swore she could hear him smiling on the other end. The feeling was unsettling.

"Did you get my present?" he asked.

"Red jacket? Yeah." She glanced at it. "Not really my style."

"Oh, but it is."

"You must be thinking of the other woman you're stalking."

"Oh, Ms. Tyler, you're the only woman in my life."

"Lucky me," she replied, sarcastically.

Again she felt the urge to hang up, but she knew he'd just call back and if she didn't answer…well, he'd already gotten into her flat once.

"Do you like stories?" he asked.

"Stories?"

"Yes. I love stories. Fairytales. They're so…interesting. Don't you think?"

"What? Like Cinderella?"

"Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood."

She glanced at the jacket and laughed.

"You think I'm Little Red Riding Hood?"

Then she froze as she remembered the name of the villain in that story.

"Oh, but you are. Innocent girl coaxed off the path by a hungry wolf, but your wolf didn't gobble you up did he? No, he changed you."

What the hell was he talking about? He couldn't know. Not really. There was no way…He was fishing again. Had to be. He said he knew she'd killed people. He'd seen it in her eyes. He must be trying to figure out how she became that way. Everyone starts out innocent.

"If I'm little red riding hood then who's the big bad wolf?" she asked, trying play it off.

"You tell me."

"I don't believe in fairytales. Not anymore."

"I'll soon change that. Did you look in the pocket?"

"What pocket?"

"Of the jacket I bought you."

She glanced at the jacket lying on her bed.

"Go on," he coaxed.

She walked over to the end of her bed and reached into the pocket. Her fingers closed around a small cylinder. She pulled it out. Lipstick? She opened it. Red, same shade as the jacket.

"Not really my color."

"No? Why don't you put some on?"

"I think I'll pass."

She replaced the cap.

"I can't tell you if it suits you if don't wear it."

What? She glanced around the room. Could he see her?

"What else did you leave in my flat?"

"Oh, just a few…devices so I could keep an eye on you. I hate to cut this short, but I'm afraid I have to run. I'll see you soon."

He hung up. She tossed her phone and the lipstick on her bed. She pulled out her sonic and began searching the room. There was no way she was going to sleep until she got rid of all the cameras and any bugs he might've left.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	29. Questions

John had turned on the telly after Rose left, probably as a way to get back at Sherlock for arguing with him about sleeping on her sofa, but the detective was too lost in thought to care about his flatmate's choice in programming. A murder mystery how redundant. He barely paid attention to the program, other than to note both the writer and the director were complete idiots. Who poisons another person with bleach? If the victim was too stupid to smell the bleach in her coffee then she deserved to die. Idiots!

There were more important matters to think about. Questions that begged answers. Answers he didn't have. Why would a woman he recently met risk her life to save his brother? Did she know Mycroft? No, he didn't think so. At least, the way they interacted seemed more like acquaintances. It didn't make any sense.

Why had Moriarty sent her the message about Mycroft? Well, that was a bit easier to figure out. He wanted to find out if she would come. He wanted it to be her choice. The idea that she'd attracted Moriarty's attention didn't sit well with him, but neither did the fact that it bothered him. Why should it bother him? He'd saved people. Yes. By unraveling mysteries. That's what he did, but he didn't worry over other people. Well, he glanced at his friend sitting on the sofa, he worried about John, but only when his friend was in immediate danger. That was John though, not anyone else.

He thought back to that moment he saw her running down the street hand in hand with his brother. In that moment he'd felt some foreign emotion. Something he never thought he'd feel. Something he never wanted to feel. Something so absurd he refused to name it.

"Idiot!" he snapped.

"Sorry?" John asked, startled by Sherlock's sudden outburst.

"Nothing," he grumbled.

He tried to turn his mind to something else. Anything, but the blonde sleeping in the flat below theirs.

"So, do you think Mycroft was the first?" John asked.

"Of course not, John. I don't even think she knows Mycroft. They acted more like acquaintances."

"She?"

Wait. What the hell was John talking about?

"She who?" John asked again, raising his eyebrows.

"Do I think Mycroft was the first what?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his flatmate's question.

"If Moriarty's going after the people you care about and he took Mycroft-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted.

Moriarty. Of course he was talking about Moriarty. _What the devil's wrong with me? _Maybe there was a gas leak. Had to be.

"No?"

"He kidnapped Mycroft to test Ms. Tyler. It had nothing to do with me other than Mycroft is my brother."

"He was testing Rose?"

"Yes," he replied thinking how completely obvious it was and wondering how John managed to dress himself in the mornings.

"Why?"

"To see whose side she's on."

"All right, but why? If he was targeting her because she's associating with you then why would he test her?"

Moriarty found her interesting. Sherlock figured that out the moment he realized his nemesis sent her the message. But why?

Sherlock found her interesting because of the mystery. A woman appears in his flat seemingly out of nowhere. He could deduce very little about her. Posh, but from a working class background. She'd lost someone close to her. She worked in the field, not a soldier, but something similar that involved running and danger and fighting. Yes. A fair bit of that.

Moriarty very likely made similar deductions, but the one thing that held the detective's interest, her appearance in his flat, was the one thing his nemesis couldn't know. If he didn't then why was he so interested?

"Sherlock?" John asked, waiting for an answer to his previous question.

"She appeared in our flat, John," Sherlock said.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with-"

"Where did she come from?"

"She said-"

"That she had to leave her family. Yes. But why? Something happened that forced her to leave her family, but that still doesn't tell us how she appeared in our flat."

"No," John said, sounding baffled. "You're right. It doesn't."

Sherlock sat up.

"What do we know about her?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else. "Working class background, but her family came into money. Her job involved a fair bit of danger-"

"Danger?" John asked.

"Torchwood, ever heard of it?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his friend's question.

"No, can't say that I have…what do you mean danger?"

"Neither have I. It sounds official. If it has anything to do with the government Mycroft would know."

He pulled out his phone and dialed his brother's number.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Getting answers," Sherlock relied.

Ms. Tyler was hiding something and whatever it was had drawn Moriarty's attention. Sherlock was missing something. A piece to her puzzle and he was determined to find out exactly what that piece was.

* * *

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**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	30. Answers Pt 1

Rose pulled her robe on and stepped out of her room. Then stopped. Sherlock was sitting in her chair, hands steepled, resting against his chin. He'd obviously been sitting there for a while.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The question was so absurd she laughed.

"You're the one who broke into my flat and you're asking who I am?" She shook her head. "You already know who I am."

She passed through the living room and into the kitchen. It was too early for whatever game Sherlock was playing and she'd had her fill of games last night. She put the kettle on, but when she turned around she found him blocking the doorway.

"Rose Tyler," he said.

"You already knew that."

"But Rose Tyler doesn't exist."

She laughed.

"Been talking to your brother?"

"Yes. I called him up last night and he told me what he found…or, more precisely, what he didn't find. And it's not just your name. _You_ don't exist. No camera footage, photos, records."

"Well, I must exist otherwise I wouldn't be here," she laughed.

"It's as if you deleted all instances of yourself…no, there's something else. Something I'm missing." He paced as he spoke then he stopped and eyed her. "What am I missing?"

She made a cuppa and thought about offering him one, but after glancing at him realized that he probably wouldn't have answered her. He was in his element. The living room could explode and he wouldn't notice.

He was waiting for an answer, but she decided to let him wait while she picked up her tea, brushed past him, and walked into the living room, sitting on the sofa. He followed her, but didn't sit down. Instead he hovered near her, waiting for her response.

"Well?" he finally asked.

"You're missing everything," she said.

His eyebrows drew together as he stared at her with a half baffled, half indignant look.

"Everything?"

"Why don't you sit down," she said, indicating the chair. He took a seat, his eyes never leaving her. She couldn't help smiling at the idea that she'd stumped the famous detective. He hadn't missed everything, of course, just everything important, but it wasn't his fault. People didn't generally jump to conclusions involving parallel worlds. The Doctor would have, but he was an alien. Sherlock was human, definitely not ordinary, but his experiences were limited. "My name, as I told you, is Rose Tyler and I do exist, I just don't exist here, or didn't until the other day."

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked.

She could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. She was going to have to explain it to him the same way she'd explained to Pete, but she knew there were only two possible outcomes. Either he'd think she was completely mad or he'd believe her. She didn't want to lose the only friends she had, but Sherlock deserved the truth and lying to her friends wasn't what she did.

"Imagine there are…parallel worlds. On one world Rose Tyler exists and on another world something kept that from happening. Maybe her dad wasn't born or her mum died before they met. Either way something stopped Rose Tyler from being born."

"Parallel worlds?" he asked and she could hear the disbelief in his voice.

"I know how it sounds." She sighed. Mad. That's what he was thinking. She's mad and any minute he's going to walk out that door and never want to see her again. "If the Doctor was here he could explain it better, but-"

"The Doctor? The one you traveled with?"

"Yeah. He knows all about this stuff. Me, I know some things, but not like him. He's like you, always rattling things off at a hundred kilometers an hour and I'm left trying to figure out what he's talking about. Mind you, I'm better than I was, but still-"

"The Doctor. Is he from…" He shook his head. "Parallel worlds? That's just…it's…I mean, it does make sense. A woman appears out of nowhere, a woman who doesn't exist, that device…sonic device…can be used to recharge batteries, disarm suspects, then there's your phone created with advanced technology, but parallel worlds? They don't exist. It's just not possible!"

He rubbed his face with his hands. He was having a hard time with the idea. She couldn't blame him. Part of him believed her, obviously or he wouldn't be fighting it, but another part, probably that rational part, was wrestling with what he knew to be true and, as far as he was concerned, parallel worlds didn't exist. That was something left to science fiction and not fact.

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

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	31. Answers Pt 2

Because just having the first half would've been...not very nice. :)

* * *

Sherlock wrestled with the idea. Parallel worlds. There were some scientists who believed in the existence of parallel worlds, but there was no proof. No definitive proof that they existed. But if she was telling the truth then there was the proof sitting right across from him. He clasped his hands together and sighed.

If anyone one else had told him, anyone else, he would've dismissed the idea. So, why was he still sitting there wrestling with it? And there it was. Because he believed her. Why did he believe her? He hadn't known her very long. She was clever. Yes, that was true, but that wasn't the reason. Clever people lied. There was something else. Something about her that made him trust her. He steepled his fingers and rested them against his chin.

Facts. Look at the facts. She appeared in his flat seemingly out of nowhere. She hadn't come up the stairs or through one of the windows. She possessed a phone created with advanced technology. She also possessed a device the likes of which he'd never seen. Not even Mycroft had seen anything like it and that said something. His brother had run searches on her and come up empty handed, which was probably one of the reasons Moriarty was so interested in her. She hadn't tried to contact anyone from her past. Everything in her flat was new.

All the facts pointed to one conclusion. She arrived in his flat with only the clothes on her back and whatever was in her pockets seemingly devoid of a past. Her explanation fit, a missing piece to her puzzle. It was impossible, but it fit. There were many questions that begged answers, but the most forefront of the lot was…

"How did you arrive?" he asked.

"You believe me?" she asked.

"Yes."

She gave him that distracting smile that he was starting to find…He pushed the thought aside, drawing his brows together.

"I jumped through a crack…" She trailed off as if searching for the right words.

"A crack?"

"It's like a rip in the skin of the universe."

"Leading from one parallel world to another," he deduced.

"Exactly. It'd been happening for a while. The cracks opening up and people disappearing."

"But you jumped into one. Why?"

"To stop them. The one that I jumped into. I used my sonic to get a reading, find out what it was, but something happened and it started to open."

"You closed it by jumping into it."

"Yes."

"Were you the only one there?"

"No, but I was the only one who could close it."

"Why you?"

"Because I'm…complicated." He raised his eyebrow. "I told you I traveled with the Doctor and…well…because of that I'm a different."

There was that Doctor again. So, traveling with him changed her in some way. What did that mean? There was something about his doctor. Another piece of the puzzle he was missing.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said, standing up, but there was one more question that needed an immediate answer, one he'd been wrestling with since last night.

"Why did you save Mycroft?" he asked.

"Because he's your brother," she replied, as if it should've been obvious.

He watched her walk into her room to gather her clothes. _Because he's your brother. _What sort of answer was that? What did it matter to her if Mycroft was his brother? It wasn't like it made any difference, did it? Wait. What did that mean? Did that mean it made a difference? Why did it make a difference? John. He had to talk to John. He knew about these things. He would know what she meant. Sherlock stood up and headed for the door.

* * *

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**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	32. Completely Obvious

Sherlock stopped, mid pace, and gave John that look. The one that was a cross between _are you an idiot? _And _What the hell are you going on about? _John tried to keep a straight face, but he knew he was only holding back the inevitable. His best friend was completely out of his element. Something that didn't happen very often and John relished each and every time.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"It's completely obvious. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't see it already," John said before almost chocking on his tea because the laughter he was holding back tried to escape.

"She…what?"

"Fancies you." He had to stop himself again as he nearly snorted into his tea. He was trying not to lose it, at least, not yet, but Sherlock was looking at him as if he had no idea what John was going on about, which he probably didn't. "I know. It's hard to believe and for the life of me I'm not sure why, but for some reason-"

"What do you mean you don't know why?" Sherlock shot.

"Well, I mean, you're…" He gestured at his friend. "…you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Exactly."

John rubbed his mouth to stop the smile that was forming because that's all it would take, one smile, and he'd lose it.

"And what, exactly, does that mean?"

"It's not really your area…is it?" More of a statement than a question.

Sherlock didn't date. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word, but then, there wasn't anything normal about his friend. The only other woman he'd shown the slightest interest in had been…different. Dangerous. Prone to playing games of her own. Games that had nearly gotten her killed.

Sherlock said Rose's job had been dangerous, but the woman herself wasn't like Ms. Adler. Rose didn't seem the type to play games. That whole business with her sudden appearance aside. She hadn't lied to them, beyond going in her room to sneak out the window, but that had been for another reason. The reason Sherlock came to John with his question in the first place.

"It…" He appeared to be trying to process John's words, but at the same time his mind was trying to refute them. "You think she attempted to sacrifice herself for my brother…because she fancies me? Do you know how ludicrous that sounds?"

"Ludicrous or not that's why she did it."

"Then she's an idiot!"

Sherlock flopped down in his chair and sat back, gazing at the wall in that way he did that told John he was thinking, processing.

"You don't believe that."

"Maybe I do."

"No, you don't."

Sherlock eyed him.

"How would you know?"

"Because I know you. If you thought she was an idiot we wouldn't be having this conversation. You know she's clever. You've known it from the moment she told you how Mr. Slater was murdered, probably knew it before that. This isn't about her. It's about you."

"Me?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you."

The detective sat forward and eyed his friend.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're problem is…you fancy her too."

"What?" Sherlock dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand as he flopped back. "That's absurd. I do _not_ fancy people."

"Really?" John asked, covering his mouth to keep from laughing, but trying to sound completely serious.

"Yes, really."

"Then what was that little thing you did last night?"

"What thing?"

"Offering to let her take your arm."

"That…" His brows drew together. "…I was simply…" His gaze wondered to the other side of the room. "…It was…"

"Yes?" John asked, trying not to laugh as his friend tried to work out why he'd done it…or come up with an excuse that didn't have anything to do with showing someone else affection.

"Oh, shut up, John!" he snapped.

That was it. John lost it. He started laughing so hard he had to set his cup down to keep from dropping it. Sherlock glared at him.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Y…" he tried to control himself long enough to reply, but when he glanced at his friend's furious expression he started in again.

"You're being an idiot!" Sherlock growled, standing up. He strode to the door and pulled it open. "You're all idiots!"

He stepped out and slammed the door shut. John sat there, still laughing, wondering what Lestrade would make of this, which started in a whole new round of laughter.

* * *

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	33. A Nice Murder

Sherlock stalked down the street with no destination in mind. He was trying to put as much distance between himself and 221B as possible, mainly because after walking out and slamming the door of the flat he shared with John he'd found himself walking down the basement steps. It was as if something in his subconscious was drawing him to her door. He'd stopped, halfway down, realized what he was doing and immediately turned around and walked out the front door. _Gas leak. There has to be a gas leak. _It was the only thing that made sense because he, Sherlock Holmes, most certainly did not fancy anyone, let alone the blonde living in the flat below theirs.

A woman who didn't even belong there. A woman who had given him a story that he would've laughed at before shooting off a scathing remark and walking out, but that hadn't happened. She told him the impossible and he believed her. More than that he…admired her…she was loyal and selfless like John and clever. More clever than…He shook himself. _What the hell is wrong with me? _

_A murder. That's what I need. _Yes, a nice murder or a serial killer…something to get his mind off thoughts best left to ordinary people who were used to all those bloody feelings and other…things. At that moment his phone chimed. He pulled it out and read the name. Lestrade. He smiled as he answered.

"Lestrade," he greeted.

"Sherlock. I need you down at the morgue," the inspector said.

"Murder?" he asked, with a hopeful lilt to his voice.

"I wasn't sure at first, but that's what it looks like."

"I'm on my way."

Sherlock hung up, sporting a wide grin. Murder! Just what the doctor…or the detective in this case, ordered. He typed a message to John.

_Morgue._

_-SH_

He slid his phone into his pocket and hailed the nearest cab. After climbing into the back, closing the door, and then instructing the driver, his mobile chimed. He pulled it out and read John's message.

_On my way._

-JW

Good. Nothing straightened out nonsense like a murder. There wouldn't be any of that rubbish about feelings and who fancied whom when they were trying to sort out a case and the only people working this case would be him and John. Ms. Tyler was clever, but it would be best to put some distance between them.

Besides she needed time to adjust to a new…world. He shook his head. Ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous. He couldn't tell anyone…well, perhaps John, eventually. Mycroft would have him in the state hospital, something he was sure his brother would be pleased about. That way he could keep an eye on Sherlock.

The cab pulled up beside the hospital. Sherlock paid the driver before climbing out. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he walked inside. If he was lucky this murder would keep him tied up for a few hours and if he was very lucky it would be the beginning of a serial killing spree, but he knew that was almost too much to hope for. Serial killers were few and far between. Ah, well, at least it was a murder.

"On your own?" Lestrade asked as the detective strode into the morgue.

"John's on his way," Sherlock said, crossing the room to the table the inspector was standing next to.

There was a sheet covering the body. He noted Molly standing on the other side of the table and gave her a nod of recognition.

"His sister's not with him, is she?" Lestrade asked.

Molly shot him a questioning glance, but he ignored it.

"No, Ms. Tyler won't be joining us," Sherlock said, pulling back the sheet.

Animal attack. He pulled his magnifying glass out and began examining the wounds. Deep lacerations. Canines. Approximately two inches. Large dog?

"Ms. Tyler? I thought John's last name was Watson."

"It is."

Dog attack? Why had Lestrade called him in on a dog attack?

"But if she's not married why does she have a different last name?"

Sherlock snapped his magnifying glass shut and shoving it in his pocket. "Why are you wasting my time with this?"

"Rude," a woman chastised.

Sherlock's eyes darted to the door that Rose walked through, followed by John. What the hell was she doing there? He asked John to come, not her. How the hell was he supposed to distance himself from her if she was going to be popping up at his crime scenes?

"What are you doing here?" he shot.

"John and I were having a cuppa when he got your message," she replied.

He turned his piercing gaze on John.

"I couldn't just leave her there, could I? That would've been rude."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course he had to bring her along and it had nothing to do with his ludicrous assumption that the detective had feelings for her. Sherlock had no choice. He'd have to put his foot down. Tell her to leave.

"I really wouldn't…" Lestrade began, but Rose had walked past them to take a look at the body.

"That's…" she trailed off staring at the top half of the corpse…or what was left of it.

Sherlock hastily crossed the room and pulled the sheet over the body. John was by her side in the next moment.

"Are you alright?" his friend asked.

"Yes…I…" She tore her gaze from the sheet. "I'm fine. Really. I just…wasn't expecting that." She indicated the sheet.

There was something in her voice, not now, but those first few words. She definitely wasn't fine. He observed her. She wasn't shaking. Her body didn't betray any hint of fear, but her eyes…

"Hello," Molly said, stepping into the room with a plastic bag that must contain the dead woman's clothes. She was staring intently at…Rose.

When did she leave? She'd been standing on the other side of the table and now…Sherlock pushed the question aside. Obviously she'd gone to collect the woman's things when he was examining the body. Lestrade must have sent her off to fetch them or she knew he'd want to take a look at them.

"Who're you?" Molly continued.

"Oh, sorry, Molly," John said. "This is Rose. Rose Tyler. She's a friend." He turned to Rose. "This is Molly Hooper."

"Hi, Molly," Rose said, giving the woman a smile as they shook hands.

And just like that the fear was gone. As if she turned off a switch. People didn't do that, did they? Well, other people.

"Wait. I thought she was your sister?" Lestrade asked.

"You prat," Rose said, slapping John's arm.

Sherlock raised his brow.

"Oi, what'd I do?" John asked, grabbing his arm.

"You were the one who wanted to play the joke on him in the first place and now you've spoiled it."

She was covering for them. He smiled and then shook it off a moment later.

"Joke?"

"Telling your flatmate that I was your sister to see if he could deduce who I really was. Honestly, John, you've really got to stop staying out all night."

"Oh. Right. That," John said, finally catching on.

"You let me believe she was your sister to play a joke on Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

The detective watched the foray for a few minutes and decided he better put an end to it if he was going to get any work done.

"You could've ended the charade days ago. Within the first hour I'd already deduced that she was an old friend, secondary school I'd say, but you haven't seen her since before the service. You reconnected a few days ago after she moved to town."

He took the bag from Molly and walked over to one of the counters then he sat it down, took off his coat and pulled on a pair of gloves.

"If you already deduced all that then why didn't you say anything?" Rose asked walking over to stand next to him as he began pulling out the clothes.

"I wanted to find out how long John could keep it up," Sherlock said, continuing with their ruse.

She handed him a pair of tweezers that were sitting on the counter and then retrieved a Petri dish from another counter. Animal hair. He began collecting hair samples with the tweezers and adding them to the dish she was holding.

"Come on," she said, bumping him lightly with her shoulder, not enough to impede his evidence collecting, just enough to let him know she was having fun with the game. He glanced at her, returning that distracting smile she was giving him. "You were keeping him on the hook."

"John should know better than to try to trick me," he replied, turning back to the evidence gathering. "It doesn't work."

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	34. Intentions

Lestrade left after getting a call, telling John to have Sherlock give him a ring when he found something. Not if, when, this was Sherlock after all. Molly busied herself returning the woman's body to one of the drawers.

John watched the interplay between his best friend and the woman who rented the flat under theirs. He'd never seen his friend act so…human. Well, human for Sherlock. He wasn't falling all over himself like a school boy with a crush and he wasn't drowning her in complements or asking her on a date, but he was allowing her to stand next to him and touch the lab equipment. More than that he was actually interacting with her while he was working. That was something that just didn't happen.

"Who is she…this friend of yours?" Molly asked, coming up to stand next to him.

"What do you mean?" John asked, glancing at Molly.

He knew she had a thing for Sherlock. Or, at least, she used to. She was dating some bloke called Adam…Winters? Walters? Something like that. He'd only seen the guy once, last month, when he stopped by to take her to lunch. He was a doctor, moved to town recently to take care of his aging mother, and he owned a green parakeet. All Sherlock's deductions.

"What does she do for a living?"

"Oh…um…she's between jobs at the moment. Just moved to town."

"But you've known her for a long time."

"Old friends, yeah."

"And Sherlock met her when?"

"Two days ago. Why?"

"Just…wondering."

This was starting to feel more like an inquisition than a friendly conversation.

"So," John said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to figure out how he could steer the conversation to something less about the flirting that was going on at the other end of the room. "How's Adam?"

"Adam?" Molly asked, distractedly. "Oh, he's fine."

"Good."

"Been spending a lot of time with his mother. She hasn't been doing well."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

John mentally kicked himself. He'd managed to take the conversation from bad to worse in a manner of seconds. He glanced at his best friend. Rose bumped Sherlock's shoulder playfully and he…smiled? Did he actually just smile? John would definitely bring that up later.

"Two days?" Molly asked in disbelief.

"A lot can happen in two day," John said.

"Clearly."

Rose joined them as Sherlock carried the Petri dish over to one of the forensic microscopes.

"I don't know about you two, but I'm starving and it looks like this might take a while. Do you want to pop out with me and grab some takeout?" she asked.

"Sure," John said. "I haven't had lunch yet and it's not like there's a lot to do around here."

"Molly?" she asked.

"Actually, I have some work to get back to," the pathologist said.

She hadn't been rude, but she hadn't been exactly nice either. John gave Molly a questioning glance, but she looked away.

"I understand," Rose said. "We'll bring you back something."

She either hadn't heard the abruptness in Molly's voice or she was choosing to ignore it. Rose took John's arm and led him out of the room. They walked through the hospital and out the main doors, but as they started down the street John decided that if he was going to talk to her, something he'd been wrestling with ever since he realized what was going on with his friend, then now was as good a time as any.

"What are your intentions with Sherlock?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry?" she asked.

John stopped and looked at her.

"He's my friend, my best friend, and I don't want to see him get hurt." _Again_, but he didn't voice that.

"And you think I'd hurt him?"

He didn't think she would. At least, not on purpose, but there were things she didn't know.

"No, not intentionally, but Sherlock's…not like other people."

"That's obvious, yeah?"

Yes, so why did she treat him like he was? Most people resented him or grudgingly put up with him because they needed his help. There was Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly, but Sherlock helped Mrs. Hudson with a case, he helped Lestrade with multiple cases and Molly…well, that was an entirely different matter.

"Do you care about him?" John finally asked.

"I care about both of you," she replied.

He wasn't sure if she was trying to avoid the question or if she didn't understand what she met.

"Not as a friend, that's not what I mean."

She dropped her smile and he could see something in her eyes, but he couldn't tell what it was.

"I…I haven't really known him that long."

"And he hasn't known you that long, but he's different around you."

Her brows drew together as if she was trying to figure out what he was talking about.

"Different?"

He sighed. He'd have to come out and say it and hope it didn't get back to his friend, but it was the only way to make her understand.

"He cares about you."

"And?"

"And that just doesn't happen…with him I mean. There was only one other woman I've seen him change around, but that was…something else…not the same as he is around you. You make him…I don't know…more human."

Her eyes grew distant and now he could see what she'd been hiding. Pain. Why would…and then he remembered. _James. _He glanced at the ring on her finger. Not a wedding ring, according to Sherlock, but still important enough for her to keep it close.

"I…care about him," she replied.

She said they might've gotten married, but sometimes things didn't work out. The way she said that made him think it'd been a long time, but it seemed she was better at hiding her feelings that she let on.

"But not in the same way?" John asked.

"I…I don't know…I guess he reminds me of someone."

And there it was.

"Someone you were in love with?"

"Yes."

She glanced away as if remembering something…or someone.

"James?"

"Him…and the Doctor."

There was that doctor again.

"The Doctor? You were in love with both of them?"

"No…well…it's complicated."

He could tell that talking about them upset her, but Sherlock was his friend and he wasn't about to let his friend get hurt all over again.

"What are you not telling me?"

"I…" she caught his eye and seemed to realize that he wasn't going to accept _it's complicated _for an answer. She sighed. "The Doctor came first. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be standing here right now."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled at some long ago memory.

"The first day I met him he saved my life. I'm not sure if I fell in love with him at that moment or if that came later, but I knew I wanted to help him. To stay with him. Travel with him."

"Help him how?"

"He…travels around and helps people."

"Like he helped you by saving your life?"

"Yeah."

He knew there was more to it than traveling and helping people, but he decided to let that go for now.

"What happened?"

"That's where…it gets complicated." She glanced at him, but he needed to know so he waited. "We were separated. I was…stuck in a place I couldn't leave and he couldn't get to me."

She was being evasive and he wasn't quite sure why, but it sounded like she was taken somewhere…a foreign country perhaps…and she was detained and this doctor couldn't get to her.

"He left you alone in a strange place? Did he try to get you out?"

"He couldn't. Like I said, it's complicated. I tried to get out though. To get back to him. It took two years, but I finally managed it."

There was more to the story than she was letting on. She was giving him the highlights, which was fine for now, but he'd like to find out where she was, how she got there, and why that doctor couldn't get to her. The bit that stuck out was the fact that she spent two years trying to get back to this doctor. Two years! If she made it back to him then where was he?

"Where is he now?"

"Traveling and helping people I suppose. That's what he does."

"If you spent two years getting back to him then why aren't you with him?"

"There was…" She averted her gaze, but he could see the pain in her eyes. "…a battle…" A battle? "We won, but there was a price." What the hell did that mean? What sort of battle? "I had to go back and James had to stay with me."

"You had to go back? To that place you were kept in? Were you captured and taken back?"

A soldier. He could see it now. Not the same as he'd been, but similar.

"No, it's…" He thought she was going to say complicated and maybe she was, but she changed her mind. "It wasn't a prison in the sense you're thinking, but it might as well have been since I was suck there with no way to get out, but I had my mum and my dad so that was something." She gave him a smile, trying to indicate that having her family there made it all right, but to John it didn't. "I was with The Doctor during the battle and at the end James did something that went against everything he stood for and because of that The Doctor thought he was too dangerous to be left on his own. So, he took us back there."

"So he left James with you?" John asked, already knowing the answer.

"Because he needed me."

"This Doctor sounds like a bloody arse," John fumed.

"He thought he was doing the right thing," she protested.

"By leaving you with someone too dangerous to be left on his own? No, more than that, by trapping you with him because you couldn't leave!"

"John," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "You don't understand. It's more complicated than that."

Rose's phone chimed, indicating she had a message, but she ignored it.

"It doesn't sound complicated at all! You worked for two years to get back to a man you loved. You fought beside him. Then he dumps you back off where you started with someone he deemed too dangerous to be left on his own! I'd like to meet this doctor of yours," John yelled.

"There are things you don't understand."

Her phone chimed again.

Oh, he understood perfectly. He'd met arrogant pricks in his time, but for someone to treat another person, especially one who obviously cared for them, that way was enough to…yes, he'd definitely like to meet this doctor and the first thing he'd do was punch him square in the jaw.

Rose's phone chimed again. She gave him an apologetic look as she pulled it out and read the text, but John was too busy thinking about wrapping his hands around the Doctor's throat if he ever got the pleasure of meeting him. When he glanced at her he noticed that her eyes seemed guarded, not afraid, but worried? She gazed down the street as if she was looking for someone.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She stuffed her phone into her pocket.

"No, sorry, just…thought I saw someone."

She gave him a smile.

"Who was it?" he asked, nodding toward her mobile.

"Oh, um, just someone I met. We better hurry or Sherlock will have the case solved before we get back, if he hasn't solved it already," she said, taking his arm and pulling him down the street.

He knew she was trying to keep him from getting back to their conversation, which was fine. He had the answer he was looking for along with an idea of what she'd been through. As soon as he could he was going to sit down and have a nice long chat with Sherlock.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	35. Distractions

Just a warning...some people might find this a bit racy towards the end. I don't, but some people might. :)

* * *

Animal fur. Canine. But there was something off about it. Sherlock ran the analysis through the computer. Molly was hovering near the edge of the table, which usually met she wanted to talk. He sighed and as if on cue her eyes darted to him.

"Find anything?" she asked.

"I'm waiting on the analysis," he replied without taking his eyes from the cells under the microscope.

A few minutes of silence passed during which he wished she'd find something else to do, but she stayed put. Why did people always want to talk about things?

"She seems…nice."

"She?"

What the devil was Molly talking about?

"John's friend, Rose."

"Ms. Tyler, yes, she's very…nice."

Another stretch of silence.

"So, you're friends then?" Molly asked.

"Friends?" He glanced at her. "No. Not really. I mean, I hardly know her."

"It seemed like you knew her." Molly fidgeted. "If I didn't know you've only known her for two days I…"

He glanced at her again.

"You'd what?"

"I don't know."

She shook her head, a clear indication that she was going to say something, but changed her mind, piquing Sherlock's curiosity.

"Molly?"

"Yes?"

"You'd what?"

Molly shook her head and looked away.

"No, it's silly. She's obviously not."

"Obviously not, what?"

She waved her hand as if to wave him off, but that wasn't going to work.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Molly!"

Her eyes snapped to him and she fidgeted, uncomfortably.

"I thought. I mean the way you two were acting…"

Sherlock turned his full attention on her. What the hell was she talking about?

"You thought what?"

"That she was your girlfriend." He stared at her, mouth slightly open. "See, I told you it was silly."

He closed his mouth. Girlfriend?

"Why would you even think that? It's completely absurd."

"Just…the way you two were acting."

"And exactly how were we acting?" he asked, raising his brow.

"Like you were together."

What did she mean? They were standing together.

"Together?"

"You know. _Together_."

Oh, she met…

"That's…completely absurd." He turned his attention back to the microscope. Girlfriend? Honestly. Had everyone gone mad? There was no…she wasn't even his…

"It's just…" she began. He sighed. "…you're different around her."

"Different?" He glanced at her. "Different how?"

"You were smiling."

He turned back to the microscope.

"I smile."

"Not really. And…"

He looked at her.

"And?"

She fidgeted again.

"And sort of…joking."

So, because he smiled at her and joked with her she must be his girlfriend, people were idiots.

"I've joked with John before."

"But not with anyone else?"

"I…" He must have. What about…no. There was…no. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"You're right."

"Quite."

She began straightening things up.

"It was silly…really," she said. He sighed. "Thinking that about her and you. She's known John a lot longer and they did leave together."

Sherlock glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. What did she mean by that?

"To get takeout," he pointed out.

"He's more her type anyway-"

"What do you mean more her type?" Sherlock snapped, turning to look at her.

"He's more, you know…" He raised his brow. "…friendly and she's sort of like that too."

"Friendly?"

"Yeah, you know, nice."

"Nice?"

"He smiles and says nice things."

"I've been nice."

"When?"

"Today."

"Today?"

"I haven't said one word about your boyfriend…what was his name again?"

"Adam?"

"Yes. Or the fact that you think he's cheating on you."

"Why would you say that?"

"Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. You didn't wash your hair, probably didn't even shower before you came in because you were up all night crying-"

Molly started to run across the room.

"SHERLOCK!"

His eyes snapped to the other end of the room. Rose stood next to John in front of the open door. She shoved the takeout bag at his friend and strode across the room toward him.

"I leave you alone for a few minutes and you're at it again," John chastised. "Well done."

Sherlock watched her cross the room not entirely sure what to do. Her eyes were blazing.

"I didn't-" was all he managed to get out before she grabbed his hand and pulled him off the stool. "I'm working."

"Sod it!" she growled, pulling him toward the door.

_What the hell does she think she's doing? _She couldn't order him about. He was in the middle of a case. He looked at John for help, but his friend only smiled.

"I'll just keep an eye on the analysis then," John offered as she pulled Sherlock out the door.

He tried to pull out of her grip, but she was stronger than he gave her credit for. She drug him down the hall. He could hear Molly crying in one of the rooms. Crying? Why was she so upset? He merely pointed out what she was already thinking.

"What're you doing?" he demanded.

"Making you clean up your own mess for once," she snapped.

Clean up his own…What the hell was she talking about? Rose drug him into one of the rooms. Molly was hunched over near the window. Her back to them. She turned around when they entered.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I know you're upset, but this couldn't wait."

Rose pulled Sherlock across the room. Molly glanced at their hands and then back at Rose.

"I don't understand."

"Sherlock," Rose said, pulling him up next to her, "was just about to apologize."

"Apologize?" Sherlock and Molly asked in shock.

Rose glared at the detective.

"Yes, apologize."

"For what?" Sherlock asked.

"For what you said to her."

"I was merely pointing out-"

She slapped his arm, hard.

"You duffer. I wasn't asking you to repeat it. We all heard what you said."

Sherlock glared at her. She slapped him!

"You slapped me!"

"Got that did you? Now tell her you're sorry or I'll slap you again."

"If you heard me then why should I apologize?" he growled.

"Because Molly thinks you said her boyfriend's cheating on her."

"I didn't say he was. I said-"

She slapped him again. He'd had about enough of her. He glared at her. She returned his glare and pointed her finger at him.

"Rule number one. It doesn't matter what you said. It only matters what she thinks you said."

"That's absurd! How would I even know what she thinks I said?"

"Running out of the room crying didn't give you a clue?"

"Well, I-"

"You knew you upset her, but you chose to ignore it. Why should you deal with it? You're Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. You just say whatever you bloody well want and sod everyone else. Let someone else deal with your mess. Well, not today. Now, tell her you're sorry."

She was infuriating! Earlier, when she'd been covering for his fabrication about her being John's sister he thought they could be friends, but now.

"It's all right. I know he didn't mean it," Molly said.

"No, Molly. It's not all right. People, especially self serving pompous arses, don't get to go around hurting other people because they're too thick headed to stop and think before they open their big mouths."

He stepped closer to her, glaring into her hazel eyes.

"I'm a pompous arse am I?" he snapped.

She stepped closer, poking his chest. The scent of strawberries swept between them, but he forced himself to ignore it. Must be her shampoo.

"And thick headed!" she yelled.

"Thick headed?"

She poked him in the chest again and he grabbed her hand.

"And you have a big mouth!"

He could feel the pulse in her wrist climbing.

"And you're obnoxious!" he shot.

He grabbed her other hand as she reached out to slap him and then closed the last few inches between them. He could feel her heartbeat coursing through her body as it pressed against his, but he was too angry to think about that. Or the way her blonde hair framed her face or the flush of pink on her skin because she was just as angry as him or the intensity of her hazel eyes or-

"And you're a spoiled arrogant prick!" she snapped.

His head inclined toward her as if it had a mind of its own. Her eyes darted between his, glaring a warning.

"Don't you even think about it!" she growled.

Oh, he was thinking about it. More than thinking about it. John cleared his throat from the doorway. Sherlock glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Then he returned his gaze to the infuriating woman pressed against him, his hands clamped firmly around her wrists.

"Right. Um. Would you two like a room because there's one that's not occupied just down the hall," John said.

Sherlock watched Rose look at Molly. Interruptions. Why were there always interruptions? She pulled away, but he kept his eyes on her, trying to figure out how their argument turned into…

"Apologize," Rose insisted.

Right. Apologize. That's what he'd been about to do…wasn't it? He looked at Molly.

"I'm sorry, Molly. Can you forgive me?" he asked.

"Okay," she said, glancing between Sherlock and Rose.

"And, for what it's worth, you're wrong about him."

"I am?"

"I saw him yesterday coming out of a clinic with his mother. He's not cheating on you."

"Are you sure?"

He gave her his patented _don't be an idiot _look, which earned him another slap from Rose.

"Thank you," Molly said.

Rose hugged her. Why? They didn't even know each other.

"Better?" Rose asked.

"Much," Molly said.

"If you're finished the, um, analysis is done," John said.

The case! Sherlock turned around and followed his friend out of the room. Finally, he could get started and hopefully get his mind off Ms. Tyler and her ability to distract him. The last thing he needed was a distraction.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	36. Wolf

I'm going to take a minute to answer a question a few guests have posted. Feel free to skip ahead to the story if you like...otherwise...

About The Doctor...he won't be appearing in this part of the story, but I am working on a second part or second book, if you will, and he's in that one along with Amy and Rory. Not sure what I'm calling it yet since I've only written the first chapter, but I'll let you all know when this is close to wrapping up. Now, on to the story. :)

* * *

"Come on, Molly," Rose called as she began to follow John and Sherlock out of the room.

She heard the other woman fall into step behind her as she trailed the boys down the hall. She tried to push aside thoughts about what had taken place between her and Sherlock…and what almost happened. A woman was dead. Attacked by some kind of animal. As the Doctor would say, perspective, but she found her mind returning to the intensity in his eyes as he leaned down…She shook herself.

No, they were friends, that's all. She didn't need complications. Not with everything else that was going on. She needed to keep Moriarty focused on her to keep Sherlock's friends safe and she couldn't do that if she allowed her feelings for the detective to change. Besides, he didn't know her past. The things she'd done. No, a relationship was out of the question.

She stepped into the lab and crossed the room. Sherlock was reading the analysis. Molly stopped next to her, also waiting on the findings.

"A wolf? Sherlock asked.

He pulled out his phone and dialed, but Rose's mind was already spinning. A wolf? It couldn't have anything to do with him…could it? _A young girl lured off the path by a hungry wolf. _A coincidence? She might've believed that before, but one of the things she learned while traveling with the Doctor was that there really weren't any coincidences. It was him. Had to be.

"Where was the body located?" Sherlock asked.

Did he have her killed to send Rose a message? If so, what was the message? There had to be something about the woman. Something…and then she remembered the messages. The ones he sent her while she was out with John.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

Rose glanced at him thinking he was talking to whoever he was on the phone with, but she'd been so focused on trying to work out if the woman's death had anything to do with her that she hadn't noticed when he hung up and pocketed his mobile.

"Sorry?" she asked.

He stepped toward her.

"There's something you haven't told me."

There was, but she didn't think it had anything to do with the dead woman. At least, not until now. She pulled her phone out, brought up the messages, and handed it to him. He read through the texts. She didn't have to look at them to remember what they said.

_I've replaced your blouse._

About a minute later.

_Hung it in the closet next to your new coat._

A few seconds later.

_I've made sure it won't happen again._

They were all sent from a blocked number, but she knew who it was. The coat reference pretty much gave him away, but Sherlock wouldn't understand that, which meant she'd have to explain it to them. She knew from her conversation with John that he wasn't going to be very happy she'd kept it from them, but when she rescued Mycroft she knew she'd made herself a target.

"Who are they from?" Sherlock asked.

"Moriarty," she revealed.

"What?" John asked, leaning over to reread the texts he'd already read over Sherlock's shoulder. "What does he mean, he replaced your blouse?"

"This morning I went to a little shop around the corner to grab a bite, but one of the servers bumped into me and spilled coffee on my shirt. That's where I was coming back from when you told me you put the kettle on and offered me a cuppa," she explained.

"That's why you said you had to change," John deduced.

"He's been in your flat?" Sherlock asked.

There was an edge to his voice. One she hadn't heard from him before and it reminded her of the Doctor…the dangerous side of him.

"Yes," she said, trying to think of a way to alleviate that murderous look in his eyes.

"How does he know your coat's new?" John asked.

She could've played it off by saying everything in her flat was new, but she wouldn't lie to them.

"He left it for me."

Sherlock's brows drew together.

"When?" he asked with that same edge to his voice.

"Last night when I went down to my flat after…everything…it was there."

She decided not to mention that it was lying on her bed or that Moriarty or someone who worked for him made her bed after putting it together.

"Leave," Sherlock said, glancing from John to Molly.

"Sherlock, I-" John began, giving Rose a worried look.

"LEAVE!"

The anger in his voice sent John and Molly scurrying for the door. Rose watched them feeling her heart drop. She'd never seen him like this, but…she took a deep breath and pushed the feeling aside…she'd dealt with the Doctor when he was angry enough to destroy millions of Daleks. She wasn't about to let some consulting detective, friend or not, intimidate her. Yes, she had kept things from him, but it was to protect him and his friends. As soon as the door closed he focused his attention on her.

"How many times?" he insisted.

"Sorry?" she asked, taken back by his question.

He closed his eyes for a moment and she could tell he was trying to gain control of himself.

"How many times has he been in your flat?"

"Twice."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"I can take care of myself," she insisted.

She hadn't been the girl who ran to someone for help every time something dangerous cropped up in her life in a long time. Yes, she asked for help when she needed it, but there wasn't anything he could do about Moriarty getting into her flat. At least, nothing beyond camping out on her couch or insisting on her staying upstairs, neither of which was going to happen. She wouldn't play the victim. That part of her life ended the first time she was tapped on Pete's world and she wasn't about to go down that road again.

"You're being stupid!"

"Why? Because I didn't run to you for help so you could play the hero and swoop in to save me!"

"I don't play the hero, Rose!"

She registered that he called her by her first name and if she hadn't been so upset with him it would've been enough to silence her, but he was being a complete tosser.

"You're doing a piss poor job of not playing the hero!"

He grabbed her arm, glaring at her.

"I'm not going to save you!"

She glared back, defiantly.

"Who the hell asked you to?"

The door opened. She pulled her arm out of Sherlock's grip and turned around to find John standing in the doorway.

"Lestrade wants to know if you're still meeting him at the crime scene?" he asked, glancing between Rose and Sherlock, quizzically.

"Tell him we're on our way," Sherlock replied, reaching for his coat. He trained his eyes on her. "And I'll expect to see you at your flat in an hour."

"At my flat?" she snapped, still upset that he was being such a prat.

He didn't reply. Instead he walked across the room while slipping into his coat and in the next moment he was out the door. He was a complete arse! Self serving, pompous…Molly poked her head in the room.

"All right?" she asked.

"Yeah," she replied, giving the pathologist a smile.

"He doesn't mean to be like that."

"I think he means to be exactly the way he is."

"I'm not sure how much John told you about what he's been through."

Rose knew the story. Moriarty targeting Sherlock, going after his friends, forcing him to jump of a building, Sherlock faking his death so his friends would live and he could go after the people Moriarty hired. She was pretty sure he'd been a pompous arse long before that.

"He told me about everything." She gave the pathologist another smile. She liked Molly and she hated seeing her treated badly, especially by someone who was supposed to be her friend. "You shouldn't let him treat you like that."

"He doesn't mean to."

"He's never going to learn if you don't put your foot down."

"Oh, I don't know."

"He's your friend, yeah?"

"Yes."

"But you're his friend too and I know you care about him."

She was talking about something a bit more than friendship. She could see the way Molly cared about him. It was the same look she'd seen in Sarah Jane's eyes.

"We're friends."

"Then as his friend when his mouth overloads his arse you've got to tell him because that's what friends do."

She could tell that Molly wasn't entirely sure about doing that, but she was smiling so that was something.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	37. The Man

I've received some questions concerning James and how/if he died. What happened to him will be revealed, not sure when, but, yes, it will happen. :)

* * *

Moriarty stalked down the corridor. Bleak white walls. Cement flooring. Underground labs could be so…dismal. Lamps. That's what this place needed. Some pink lighting to offset the dreariness.

During his search to find out about the woman who didn't exist he'd come across something odd. Odd and coincidental, but coincidence didn't exist. It took some digging, but he finally managed to find the root of this coincidence.

He was following a lab tech. Didn't catch the man's name. The lab tech was much too ordinary for that sort of attention.

"Dr. Hastings is in here," the tech said, opening a door.

Moriarty stepped inside a small office. The desk was in disarray, paperwork scattered across the top with an open laptop amid the chaos. There were posters on the walls, most displaying the various parts of the human brain. He smiled as he gazed at them.

"Mr. Brook?" a man asked.

He finally turned his attention on the only other person in the room. Dr. Hastings sat behind the desk, gazing at him though a pair of half moon spectacles. Eighty-two. Deceased wife. Used to have a gambling addiction, which is why he now performed his experiments in an underground lab instead of working for a university or private hospital. Although, his most recent experiment would've gotten him band from both places.

"Dr. Hastings," Moriarty said, as the old man stood up. "Is your patient ready?"

"I don't understand why you insist on seeing him. As I told you over the phone-"

"Yes, yes, yes, dangerous, can't be trusted, blah, blah, blah." He pulled out a check. "If you want your money I suggest you fulfill my request."

Dr. Hastings hurried around the desk toward the door. Moriarty smiled as he slid the check back into his pocket. Money was always the best motivator. Of course, Dr. Hastings wasn't actually going to get the check, but by the time he found out, well, he wouldn't need money anymore. Moriarty followed him out the door and down the hall.

The good doctor had been working on behavior modification when that trail of coincidence led Moriarty to the old man's lab, but it wasn't his research that drew Moriarty there. They came to a door near the end. Dr. Hastings pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it. Moriarty followed him into a small room. There was another door to his right with a large window. A table was stationed under the window with a microphone, recording device, and a computer set up on top.

The room on the other side of the window was white, like the corridor, but it was the man in blue coveralls sitting at a small table in the center of the room that drew Moriarty's attention. The whole reason he'd been drawn to Dr. Hastings in the first place.

"The door," Moriarty insisted.

The doctor hesitated.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Yes, yes, enter at my own risk. I get it. Now, open the door!"

Dr. Hastings fumbled with the keys, slipped one into the lock and in the next moment pulled the door open. Moriarty stepped inside. As he crossed the room he heard the door shut behind him.

"Hello, Jim," the man greeted, giving Moriarty pause as he drew up next to the table. "Have a seat, won't you? I'd offer you something to drink, but as you can see I'm fresh out."

The man gave him a smile that mirrored his own.

"How do you know my name?" Moriarty asked.

"You called during one of our _sessions_," he replied using air quotes. "I heard your name and since you're my first visitor in the six months that I've been here. Well, two and two as they say."

Moriarty smiled.

"Oh, very good."

The man gave him a shrug, as if to say impressing Moriarty didn't really concern him.

"Did you come here for a reason or just to chat?"

Down to business. Moriarty found him interesting, but it was just as well to get on with things.

"I'm looking for answers," he said.

"Then ask the question," the man replied.

Nearly two days of searching led him to this point. So, he asked the question that had been plaguing him.

"Do you know Rose Tyler?"

The man leaned forward, a grin creeping across his face.

"Oh, yes. I know her very well."

"Tell me," Moriarty insisted, but the man continued to smile.

"You want answers and I want out of this hell hole. You get me out of here and I'll tell you everything I know about Rose Marion Tyler."

Everything. The word conjured a gleeful smile. He pulled out his phone and made the call. Soon her mystery would be unraveled and he'd know everything about her.

Of course there were loose ends to tie up. Dr. Hastings, his assistants, anyone with knowledge of the man sitting on the other side of the table. Moriarty couldn't chance anyone else finding out about the man who didn't exist.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	38. Testing the Water

John glanced from the window to his friend. Sherlock seemed irritable. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't chance provoking his friend's mood, but he was worried about Rose and the fact that Moriarty had been in her flat. He knew Sherlock was upset about it, but he wasn't sure what he was going to do…if anything. He couldn't predict how his friend would react to certain things and women…well that was a whole new territory.

"All right there?" John asked to test the water.

"Yes, John. Fine," Sherlock replied, shortly, as he typed into his mobile.

Irritable. Just as he thought. John leaned over to take a look at what his friend was doing. Running some kind of internet search.

"I heard you tell Rose you'd meet her after."

"Yes."

"At her flat?"

Sherlock glanced at him.

"Your ability to deduce the obvious is astounding."

John let the insult slide as his friend returned to typing.

"She could stay with us," John suggested.

Sherlock looked at him.

"Why would she need to stay with us?"

Was he serious? He knew exactly why she needed protection.

"Because a mad psychopath has gotten into her flat twice."

"As Ms. Tyler adamantly informed me, she can take care of herself," Sherlock snapped.

"What?" John asked in shock.

Had something happened between Sherlock and Rose in those few minutes they were alone in the lab? Sherlock lowered his phone, focusing his anger on John.

"He was in her flat, John. TWICE! She didn't say one word!"

And there it was.

"You _are_ worried about her."

"Yes! I'm worried about her, all right? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Good."

"Good? How the hell is that good? I'm worried about a woman who insists on putting herself in danger! Who insists on taking care of herself. Who won't let me know she's in danger let alone ask for help!"

"She's used to being on her own."

"That doesn't excuse her insistence on putting herself in danger."

"She's been through a lot."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to his.

"What do you know?"

"Nothing."

"You know something."

"Don't you think it'd be better if you asked her?"

"JOHN!"

He sighed. Yes, there were things he wanted to discuss with his friend about her past, but not when Sherlock was in one of his moods. John glanced at him. His friend wasn't going to let him off the hook. There was nothing for it.

"How much do you know about her past?" John asked.

"Her past?" Sherlock inquired.

"With James and that doctor."

"What do you mean?"

"Did she tell you what happened with them?"

"She said she traveled with The Doctor after he saved her life and that James was his twin."

"Twin?" John asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Did she tell you she was separated from The Doctor?"

"Separated?"

"She was trapped, in her words, in a place she couldn't leave and he couldn't get to her. It sounds like she was detained in a foreign country. Maybe even imprisoned. And that doctor left her there. She claimed he couldn't get to her, but she was trapped for two years before she managed to escape. And when she did finally manage to escape she went back to him."

"She was in love with him," Sherlock said, but in a way that told John he already knew.

"Did she tell you why she's not with him now?"

"He's still alive?" Sherlock asked in surprise. "I…assumed he died."

"No. I think he's a soldier because she said she fought in a battle with him."

"A battle?"

"Yes. And after they won that doctor took her back to the place she'd escaped from and left her there with James."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"Because the Doctor deemed James too dangerous to be left on his own."

"What did he do?"

"She didn't say, but as you can see she's been through a lot, been on her own a while. She's used to taking care of herself."

Sherlock had fallen silent. John glanced at him. He was staring out the window, but the look on his friend's face gave him pause. Anger, but stronger than any he'd ever seen. If that doctor ever made an appearance, well, John would've felt sorry for him if he didn't want to punch the man too.

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	39. Breakin

Rose opened the door to 221B and was greeted by a very upset Mrs. Hudson who rushed over to her the moment she stepped inside.

"I was out when it happened. Had to run by the market. I have no idea who could've done it," the older woman ranted.

"What happened?" Rose asked.

"It's your flat. Someone's broken in. The door's off its frame. I peeked inside. It's…it's…I'm so sorry. I'm sure I locked up, but the front door wasn't forced…"

Rose's first instinct was to rush down to her flat and assess the damage, but she couldn't leave Mrs. Hudson. Not as upset as she was.

"Did you put the kettle on?" Rose asked.

"Sorry…what?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

She put her arm around her landlady and began to lead her toward her own door.

"My mum always said a cuppa tea makes a world of difference."

Mrs. Hudson looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"But…your flat."

"Isn't going anywhere."

People were more important than things. Things could be replaced. Except…for a moment she couldn't breathe as she remembered something. Something in her flat that couldn't be replaced. She forced the feeling aside as she led Mrs. Hudson inside. Priorities.

After sitting her at the table Rose put the kettle on and then pulled two cups from the cupboard.

"I'm being silly. Getting myself all worked up and it's your flat. I'm sorry," her landlady said.

"Nothing silly about it. It might be my flat, but someone broke into your building."

"At least I kept my head long enough to phone Sherlock."

"Sherlock? Not the police?" she asked.

Not that she wanted the police trampling around her flat because she had a pretty good idea who broke in and if she was right the police wouldn't be able to find him.

"Oh, no, last time they were here they made a ruddy mess of things. Come to think of it the time before that they nearly destroyed Sherlock's flat when they were searching it."

Searching his flat? She was going to ask Mrs. Hudson about it when the kettle boiled. So, instead she poured them each a cup.

If Mrs. Hudson phoned Sherlock it wouldn't be long before he returned to poke around her flat for clues. Great! She needed to get down there and look around first.

"Better?" she asked, handing Mrs. Hudson a cup.

"Yes. Thank you, Rose. You're a dear." Mrs. Hudson took a drink. "I'm all right now. If you want to go have a look that's fine. You can take the cup. I'll collect it later."

"Thanks," Rose said, giving her a smile before heading out the door.

She would've stayed longer, but she had to see if it was still there. She walked down the stairs and the moment her eyes fell on the doorway she realized why Mrs. Hudson had been so upset.

The door was open, hanging by one hinge. She could see into her flat and disaster didn't even begin to cover what she saw. There were clothes strewn across the room. She stepped inside. Her furniture was upended, all the cushions removed. The kitchen was a nightmare of pulled out drawers, silverware dumped on the floor, dishes pulled out, some broken, pots removed from the cupboards. The refrigerator was open and had obviously been searched. What the hell were they looking for that they thought they'd find in there?

She walked into her room and found the same disaster with the exception of two things. A red coat and a blouse hanging in her closet. She was right. Whether he'd actually been there or not she couldn't say, but Moriarty was definitely behind it.

Her side table was knocked over. She searched the floor, but couldn't find what she was looking for. She bent down and searched under the bed. Nothing. She picked up the side table hoping it was hiding underneath. Nothing. Desperation gripped her chest. Frantically she tore through the disaster. It had to be there. Please let it be there.

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	40. Escalation

Sherlock knelt down, examining the back alley. _A wolf. Why a wolf?_ He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. _It has to have something to do with her, but what? _There weren't any prints. Not that he expected to find any.

He pocketed his magnifying glass as he stood up. John was talking to Lestrade. He needed to speak with Rose. She held the answers, but he wanted to speak to her without the aid of his friend. He had to find something to occupy John's time.

His mobile chimed. He pulled it out. Mrs. Hudson? She rarely called him. He answered.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he asked.

"Sherlock. Thank God. I didn't know who else to call. I only went to the market and back. I went down to bring her some tea, but then I noticed the door."

She was upset. Barely holding it together.

"What happened?"

"Someone broke in to Rose's flat."

He felt a sensation that he hadn't felt since the Baskerville case. Fear.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Isn't she with you?"

"No. I…" He sent her back there. Sent her to her flat because he was angry with her for not telling him about Moriarty. His mouth went dry. What if she…? No, he couldn't think about that. Couldn't allow that thought…He hung up, pocketing his mobile. He raced out of the alley, hailing the nearest cab.

"Sherlock!" John called, but he barely registered his friend's voice.

He opened the door and jumped into the seat.

"221B Baker Street," he instructed.

Moriarty had been in her flat twice. Sherlock was down there and he hadn't seen a sign, but then he wasn't looking for them. If Mrs. Hudson noticed…and as upset as she was…He tried to keep the images from flooding his mind. Images that hadn't bothered him before, but now…Every crime scene, every woman became her. Murder. Over two hundred scenarios.

As they neared the building he didn't wait for the cab to stop. He pulled the money from his pocket, threw it at the driver, and practically flew out of the cab, up the steps, and through the door. A quick jaunt down the hall and he was descending the steps.

Her door had been forced open, hanging by a single hinge. The living room had been tossed. He stepped into her flat and gazed around the room. If there had been any signs of a struggle it blended in with the ransack. All the furniture had been tossed, clothes strewn about the room. A glance into the kitchen told the same story. Someone had come here intent on finding something.

A noise from the other room drew his attention. His eyes trained on her open bedroom door. Someone was in there. Mrs. Hudson? He dismissed the idea. His landlady had been upset when he spoke to her and although she might be calm by now she wouldn't venture back in there until he finished with his search and she didn't even know he was there.

He assumed the culprit was gone, but perhaps he was still there. Sherlock silently strode across the room. As he neared the doorway he could see her. Rose. She was pulling her dresser out as if she was searching for something. Relief swept through him. A strange emotion. One he felt when he removed the vest wired with explosives that Moriarty had strapped to John. Not quite happy and not quite sad, but left him with a sort of emptiness that was filled with laughter then, but this time anger swept in to fill the void.

He'd been worried over her the entire trip back to the flat, but had she been kidnapped? Murdered? No, she was there. In her flat. Searching for something. Why hadn't anyone called him?

He closed the distance between them in a few steps. Her back was to him the entire time. He resisted the urge to yell at her, even though he really wanted to.

"Lose something?" he asked.

She spun around and her eyes gave him pause. Fear. She was usually so held together, but his sudden appearance made her mask slip. It was back in place a moment later and if he didn't have a photographic memory he would've thought he imagined it. She slapped his arm.

"You scared the hell out of me," she snapped.

That makes two of us, but he chose not to voice that. Instead, he untied his scarf and slipped out of his coat, tossing them on the bed that had obviously been searched.

"I must say you're doing a brilliant job," he replied.

"Sorry?"

"This taking care of yourself lark."

Anger flashed in her eyes.

"I know Mrs. Hudson called you, but that doesn't mean I have to put up with your piss poor attitude!" she yelled stepping toward him.

"Maybe if you asked for help instead of running directly into danger like some idiot with a death wish this," he indicated the tossed room, "wouldn't have happened!"

He knew his anger was misplaced, but he didn't care. Her hand almost connected with his face, but he caught her wrist in the last moment.

"So, what? It's all right for you and John to put yourselves in danger, but if anyone else does they're an idiot with a death wish?"

_No, just you, _but he held that back. Kept that safely tucked away.

"Yes," he snapped.

"Do you realize you're being a complete arse?"

She was infuriating! Moriarty had been in her flat twice and now it'd been tossed. Was she incapable of seeing the danger she was in or did she relish driving him mad with worry?

"You put yourself in danger, made yourself a target to save a man you didn't even know!"

"You save people you don't even know every day!"

"I solve puzzles! I'm not a hero, Rose! Heroes don't exist!"

"Neither am I!"

Her pulse was elevated, but was that from her anger or something else? He gazed into her hazel eyes. She was furious, he could see that, but there was something else. Or was he searching for something else? This blonde. This woman. She drove him mad!

"Why?" he asked, more to himself than her.

The anger in her eyes ebbed, just a bit.

"Sorry…what?" she asked.

"Why do you distract me?"

"What are you talking about?"

He pulled her closer, searching her eyes for the answer. Even when dealing with Ms. Adler he could hold on to some semblance of control, but this blonde. This infuriating woman who ran toward danger as if it was some game, drove him to distraction. She made him feel…human. He couldn't afford that. Wouldn't allow it!

"You are a distraction! I can't afford distractions!"

"Neither can I!"

He glared into her eyes, trying to banish emotions that he'd gone without until her presence drew them from the darkness. He wanted to hate her, loathe her, but he knew it was a battle he'd already lost. That didn't mean he was going to go quietly.

"I am not this man," he growled as his mind battled his body for control. "I have always been able to divorce myself from feelings. Keep myself distant."

Her face was inches from his and her eyes, angry, but there was something…something so distracting…something that whispered to him. He didn't fall prey to the chemical defects of sentiment and love, but here was this woman. This bewitching blonde who had somehow managed to do the impossible.

He heard the front door open, a distant noise down the hall followed by John's footsteps as he entered the building. Sherlock was aware that he had seconds, moments. Before he knew what he was doing his hand brushed her cheek. He wanted to push her away. To continue to deny his feelings, but his body betrayed him because somewhere along the way he'd lost the game. His head inclined. He expected her to pull away, hell part of him wanted her to, but she allowed the invasion. His lips brushed hers and all of his reservations fell away. He pulled her closer, tasting the hint of raspberry on her lips as his hand tangled in her blonde hair. A moment later her arm wrapped around his waist.

A cough from the doorway startled her out of the kiss and, although, he didn't want to, he allowed her to pull away. He turned his attention on his flatmate who was standing outside her bedroom with a half stunned, half confused look on his face. Sherlock eyed him, devising the many ways he could get back at John for his many interruptions.

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**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	41. Game of Chess

Moriarty growled in frustration, slamming his fist on the desk. This woman who had drawn his interest and held it even after discovering who she really was because she wasn't ordinary. No, she had so much potential. Potential he could mold into something beautiful. Something dark, but there she was seen through the lens of one of the cameras he'd left in her flat, acting as ordinary as everyone else. Allowing her emotions to rule her and not with just anyone…with HIM!

"Got under your skin, didn't she?" the man snickered.

He focused his piercing gaze on the only other person in the room.

"She does it to everyone," he continued.

"I'm not everyone!"

"That remains to be seen."

Moriarty glared at him. He was used to snapping his fingers and having everyone in the room jump, but this man wasn't even slightly intimidated, but if his story was true that would account for it.

"I freed you, but don't think for a second that I wouldn't lock you away again," Moriarty growled.

The man shrugged, as if to say Moriarty's threats didn't concern him.

"Do you have it?" he asked, holding his hand out.

"The device wasn't in her flat."

"You know that's not what I'm asking for."

Moriarty gazed at him for a moment. The man told him about the device…sonic as he called it. Everything it could do. Not simply locking doors and destroying engines. It could hack into computer files, scan them, overload nuclear reactors, and so many other wonderful things, but he was willing to let Moriarty have it, even show him how to use it, in exchange for two things.

He reached into his pocket and handed over the mobile. The man took it, an endearingly wicked smile spreading across his face. Moriarty already looked at the phone's contents and, for the life of him, he didn't understand what was so important. There weren't any computer files, nothing incriminating, just a few pictures and a list of contacts. He turned his attention back to the camera footage.

"She must have it on her," he deduced.

"She won't after that," the man said, gesturing at the computer screen.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I know her. Very well." That wicked smile returned. "But we can get it."

Moriarty eyed him.

"How?"

"You've already put the pieces on the board for your game with Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, but that was before."

The man leaned against the desk, catching Moriarty's eye.

"The game remains the same. We simply change the stakes."

Oh, Moriarty liked him. He really, really did. He was right, of course. It was still a game and the story would fit. He smiled.

"We'll make our move in tomorrow," Moriarty decided.

"And once we've captured his queen Mr. Holmes will find himself with very few options," the man replied, returning Moriarty's smile.

Yes, his queen and once Moriarty had her and Sherlock was dealt with…well, Dr. Hastings' behavior modifications had done wonders for the man standing next to him and Moriarty had saved the good doctor's files.

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	42. John's WTF? Moment

You asked for it so here it is...John's WTF? moment...or is that moments?

* * *

John stepped through the door of 221B Baker Street. When Sherlock ran off at the crime scene in that mad, impulsive way he did when pieces to the puzzle he was trying to work out clicked together John told Lestrade he'd give him a call when his flatmate filled him in. Then he hailed a cab and returned home. He wanted to catch Rose before Sherlock arrived to warn her that he was in one of his moods.

He was halfway down the basement steps when he noticed the state of her flat. Door busted in, clothes strewn about the room. He stepped inside, fearing the worst. He was about to call her name when a voice reached him. Sherlock? What the hell was he doing there? Then came Rose's voice. Both angry. Was his flatmate yelling at her?

He crossed the living room intent on reigning Sherlock in, even if he had to drag him out of her flat when he stopped. Shock. Utter and complete shock because there they were …no, but they couldn't be…he…it…Words failed him and all he could do was stand there, hoping that one of them would notice his presence.

When he realized that wasn't going to happen in the near future he coughed. Loudly. Rose pulled away first and she looked as surprised as he was. Was she surprised by John's presence or the kiss? It couldn't have been the kiss. Sherlock would never initiate that sort of thing…would he?

He glanced at his friend. Stunned? Confused? John couldn't tell, but Sherlock was giving Rose the same look he got when he was trying to work out a puzzle. As if there was something about her he didn't understand.

"So…" John said, not entirely sure what to say. "Have you phoned the police?"

"About?" Rose asked.

"The apparent break-in," he said, glancing around the room.

"Don't be an idiot, John. The police will be more of a nuisance than a help," Sherlock replied.

And just like that he was back to his old self. As if nothing Earth shattering happened, but that was Sherlock. John decided to tread carefully until he could find out what sort of state his friend's mind was in.

"You're being rude," Rose shot.

"He's asking stupid questions!"

"And you're-"

"Tea?" Mrs. Hudson called from the living room.

"Coming," Rose called before turning a withering gaze on the detective. "Be nice."

Then she strode out of the room. John let her pass and then stepped inside. What the hell was going on between them? Sherlock walked over to her closet and began examining the blouse and red jacket hanging inside. The only two things still in their place. He drew up behind his friend. Watching him for a moment.

"So," he glanced down and then back to Sherlock…well, his back. "You kissed her then?"

"Stating the obvious again," Sherlock replied without turning around.

"And…how are we feeling about that?"

Sherlock ignored him, searching the pockets of the red jacket. He pulled out a tube of lipstick.

"You're going to have to talk about it eventually," John continued.

His friend removed the cap, gazed at the lipstick a moment, red, then replaced the cap and returned the tube to the pocket.

"Sherlock, you can't pretend that nothing happened."

"Of course, I can," Sherlock replied.

John was about to argue the point when Rose walked in the room.

"Mrs. Hudson's gone back to her flat, but there's tea in the kitchen."

"Yes," the detective replied.

"Yes?" she asked, quizzically.

"I'll take a cup."

"I didn't offer."

Sherlock glanced at her.

"You just did."

"No, I was informing you that there's tea in the kitchen not offering to get you a cup."

John stifled the laugh that wanted to escape and chose to shake his head instead. Sherlock had to get involved with a woman as headstrong as himself.

"I already knew there was tea in the kitchen. I heard Mrs. Hudson come in," Sherlock replied in his _it's completely obvious why didn't you figure it out _voice.

Rose's hands went directly to her hips in a move that told John their tea discussion was about to escalated into an argument.

"Girls!" he yelled.

Rose and Sherlock eyed him.

"Let's focus on the break-in shall we?" John continued.

"It was Moriarty," Rose said.

"Obviously," Sherlock replied.

Rose rolled her eyes.

"Obviously?" John asked, jumping in before his friend's mouth overloaded his arse…again.

"The only things that remained untouched were the jacket and blouse he purchased for her."

"He was looking for something," John said.

"Clearly," Sherlock replied in his _that's the third stupid question you've asked since you entered the room _voice.

"Did he find it?"

Sherlock eyed him.

"Sorry?"

"Well, he was obviously looking for something. Tore her flat apart to find it."

"No," Rose supplied.

"Nothing missing then?" John asked.

"There's…something missing." Her voice didn't waver, but he could tell that whatever it was it was important. "But I don't think that's what he was after."

"How can you be sure?" Sherlock asked.

The anger was gone, his clinical, detached voice replaced by something that John would've swore was concern if he didn't know his friend so well. With Sherlock he could never tell if he was acting or not.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the device…sonic. That's what she called it. Sonic screwdriver.

"I'm pretty sure this is what he was after," she replied.

"Then what'd he take?" John asked.

"My phone. The one I had when I…" she glanced at John and then back to Sherlock. "…arrived."

"Is there anything important on it? Anything he could use?" the detective asked.

"Nothing like that, but…" and again her voice changed. Her tough exterior wavering for just a moment. "…but there are things I can't replace."

"I'll get it back," Sherlock insisted.

John's mouth dropped open. He closed it a moment later, but not before realizing that this wasn't Sherlock acting. His friend never promised things he wasn't absolutely sure he could deliver on, but outside of tracking down Moriarty, breaking into wherever he was staying, locating Rose's phone and returning it…well, that was pretty much the only way. How the hell was he planning on doing that?

"No," Rose said, pulling herself together. The loss gone from her voice. "It's fine."

Sherlock snatched her arm, his eyes narrowing dangerously. John watched them carefully wondering what the hell had gotten into his friend.

"What are you planning?" Sherlock insisted.

"Nothing." But the detective wasn't buying what she was selling. She gave him a smile, but even John could tell she was hiding something. "I'm fine. Really." She put her hand on Sherlock's and he released his hold, but the intensity didn't leave his eyes. "Now, if you don't mind I've got a flat to clean up. Unless you want to stay and help."

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Yes?" she asked.

"We'll stay…and help."

Sherlock was offering to help her clean up? The world had gone mad!

"Well…" she said as if she was trying to think of something. "If we're all going to be here then maybe you two could run down and grab some takeout. I'd go, but…" she indicated the mess.

"John would be happy to go," Sherlock offered.

"I would?" John asked, not entirely sure he wanted to leave them alone.

"Yes," Sherlock said, shooting him a _just agree, you know I'm right _look.

"I would. Yes, of course I would," John agreed.

"You're not going with him?" Rose asked.

"And leave you free to enact whatever dangerous plan is running through your mind? I don't think so," Sherlock replied.

Plan? What plan?

"I told you I'm fine."

"Yes, I heard."

"You think I'm lying?"

"I think you're trying to occupy us so you can leave, possibly use your device to locate your phone, which will put you on Moriarty's doorstep."

Oh, that plan. Sherlock's insistence on staying made more sense, but still…after what he walked in on…but they were adults…well, physically.

"I-" Rose began.

"But I'm not going to let you," Sherlock cut in.

"And who the hell do you think you are coming in here and telling me what to do?" she snapped.

"This isn't a game!"

Rose glared daggers into Sherlock, but he returned her fury with his own withering stare.

"I never said it was! I know it's dangerous. I'm not stupid!"

"For someone who claims she's not stupid you're doing a brilliant impression of an idiot!"

Oh, for the love of…

"Girls!" John shouted.

They turned their scathing glares on him. Seriously? Is this what it was going to be like? He felt like he'd been given two hungry lions and only one cage.

"I'm leaving now, but if this," he gestured between them, "escalates while I'm gone could you hang a sock on the door or something? There are some things I don't want to see."

Sherlock's eyes widened and John couldn't hold back the laugh as he turned around and headed for the door. They were both too headstrong to listen to each other, but that wasn't the whole problem. They cared about each other. Sherlock, who spent his entire life refusing to allow himself to be controlled by emotions was trying to refuse his feelings. Something was holding Rose back as well, but whether it was being hurt by that Doctor, losing James, or something else he couldn't say, but he hoped they'd work it out soon otherwise they were going to drive him round the bend.

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	43. Sock

Rose finished tucking the blanket in. The last bit of her room that needed straightened. John had been gone for a while. She'd sent Sherlock out to start on the living room mainly because she knew if they stayed in the same room he'd open his mouth overload his arse and they'd be at it again. Arguing again…not that other thing.

She shook her head, mentally chastising herself for doing something she promised herself she wouldn't. She cared about him and she fooled herself into believing that it was only friendship she felt for him, but there was something else there. That kiss…No, don't think about that.

It couldn't be anything else. Friends. That's it. She wouldn't go down that road again. They left. They always left. First The Doctor in his TARDIS leaving her on that God forsaken beach and then James in that accident. No, she couldn't allow herself to care like that. Not again.

Besides. It would never work. He drove her mad. The genius part she could live with, she'd lived with it with The Doctor, but his self-righteous, arrogant behavior, well, that was another thing entirely. Telling her what she could and couldn't do and then sticking around to babysit her. The Doctor let her make her own decisions. It wasn't like she purposely put herself in danger unless she had to, but she always managed to get out of it. Why couldn't Sherlock see that? She didn't need him or anyone else telling her what to do.

She had half a mind to march out there and…then he'd argue with her and then…No, best not. He had to leave eventually because there was no way in hell he was camping out on her sofa. She could wait him out and once he was gone she'd slip out, even if she had to go out the window again, and use her sonic to locate her phone.

She stepped into the living room to appraise Sherlock's progress only to find the detective lying on her sofa, eyes closed, palms pressed together. The room was still a disaster. It looked like he put the cushions back on the sofa and then laid down.

"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped.

"Waiting for John," he replied without opening his eyes.

"You were supposed to be straightening up."

"I did."

"Where?" she asked, sweeping her arm around the room even though he couldn't see her because he hadn't opened his eyes.

"Can't you see I put the sofa in order?"

"And?"

"I can't be expected to do everything," he replied as if he was beyond anything so mundane.

That was it. She'd had enough of his smug attitude. She walked behind the sofa and while his eyes were still closed, reached down and shoved him off.

"What the hell-" he shouted as his eyes snapped open.

His arm darted out as he fell and he grabbed her hand, pulling her over the sofa. She landed between the overturned side table and the sofa, directly on top of him. At that moment the door opened and John stepped in carrying the takeout bag.

"Sock!" he shouted, pointing at the door handle as he surveyed the scene before him with a _what the hell did I just walk in on? _look on his face.

"This," Rose said, trying to stand up, which proved to be more difficult than she expected because Sherlock was still holding her hand, but she pulled out of his grip. "isn't what it looks like."

She could feel Sherlock's eyes on her, but she refused to look at him.

"It isn't?" John asked, closing the door.

"It was an accident."

"An accident?" John asked, raising his brow.

"Yes, John, an accident," Sherlock replied, standing up and straightening his suit.

"You two being on the floor or her…" he trailed off giving them a smile as he crossed the room.

"The…um…later," Sherlock replied.

"So you two meant to be on the floor?"

"I shoved him off the sofa," Rose began.

"And I may have grabbed her hand," Sherlock finished.

"Oh…" John said, picking up the side table and then setting on the sofa. "So you purposely shoved him off the sofa, he grabbed your hand, and you two…"

"Precisely," Sherlock replied.

John pulled the takeout cartons out of the bag and then set them on the table sporting a knowing grin that made her want to slap him. Instead she sat down in the chair forcing Sherlock to share the sofa with his amused friend.

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**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	44. John's Dos and Don'ts

John sat on the sofa next to Sherlock drinking the tea that he made after they finished cleaning up Rose's flat. She'd just stepped into the shower, which he knew was an attempt to make them leave, but the detective refused to budge. He was worried about her. Worried that she'd go searching for Moriarty the moment his back was turned, but she wasn't taking his attempt to protect her very well, which was more akin to holding her prisoner, but Sherlock possessed little to no experience in matters of the heart.

If the detective was ever going to have a successful relationship John would have to fill him in on the dos and don'ts, which was something he looked forward to as much as cleaning gutters. No time like the present.

"You realize you're making a mistake, don't you?" John asked.

"Sorry?" Sherlock inquired.

"I know you're worried about her, but you can't force her to do what you want."

"I'm supposed to let her run to Moriarty who no doubt took her phone to lead her into a trap?"

"Not on her own."

"I don't want her anywhere near him," Sherlock snapped in that childish way that reminded John of a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"Neither do I, but you can't treat her like that."

"What else am I supposed to do when she insists on putting herself in danger?"

"You compromise."

"Compromise?" he asked, as if it was the worst idea he'd ever heard.

"You might be used to getting your own way Sherlock, but you can't be like that with her. She's had to learn to depend on herself and when you take her choices away. No, more than that. When you insist that her choices are wrong because you won't even talk to her all you're going to do is drive her away."

"And if her choice is to run directly into danger like some idiot with a death wish?"

"What? Like you?" John asked.

Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment and then he dismissed John's claim with a wave of his hand.

"I…that's completely different."

Completely different my arse.

"Why?"

"Because I know what I'm doing." Again with the childish insistence.

Rose wasn't some naive girl. She fought in battles. Hell, look at how she saved Sherlock's brother. Yes, his friend needed reminding.

"And you don't think she does? I'm quite sure she's been in dangerous situations before. She rescued Mycroft from Moriarty on her own."

"Exactly my point."

"What?" John asked, confused.

"She went off on her own to trade herself for my brother."

"And?"

"And that was stupid."

Sherlock was in his _I'm right and you're wrong no matter what you say _mood.

"You jumped off a building."

"I faked my death."

"And if you hadn't been able to fake it?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"You're more like each other than either of you will admit," John continued. "If someone was doing to you what you're doing to her what would you do?" Sherlock eyed him. "You need to talk to her. Work with her. Otherwise she's going to do it anyway and, as you said, she'll be running directly into his trap…alone."

John stood up and stretched. "I'm heading up to the flat, but do us all a favor. Fix the door just in case you two decide to fall off the sofa again."

He walked out before Sherlock could shoot off a replay. He wasn't sure if his friend would take his advice. John hoped, for both their sakes, he would.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	45. The Distracting Blonde

Sherlock glowered at John's back as his friend made a hasty retreat. The joke about the sofa aside he knew his friend had a point, even if he didn't want to admit it. The moment he'd seen that look in her eyes. The one that told him she was saying one thing, but intending another he knew. She was going after Moriarty. Whether it was to retrieve her phone or to put an end to his games Sherlock couldn't say, but the idea that she was going to put herself in that kind of danger again made all rational thought flee his mind and that was something he wasn't used to.

Why? Why did she have to be this? The woman who drove him to distraction. He knew he was overreacting. He should be helping her not holding her prisoner, but his heart. That dreadful thing that had remained silent for years wouldn't hear of it.

John was right though. In her position Sherlock would escape the first chance he got and go after Moriarty alone. That thought was enough to change his attitude. He couldn't let that happen. It didn't matter that she'd been in dangerous situations before. He knew what Moriarty was capable of and the last thing he was going to do was let her walk into a lion's den alone.

The door opened and she stepped into the living room wearing pink plaid pajama shorts and a tank top. Her damp hair hung loose. She crossed the room toward him.

"Where's John?" she asked, distracting his attention enough to make him realize he hadn't been breathing.

"He's…um…" He shook his head. "Gone. Upstairs. Bed I think."

"And you?"

"I…um…" He looked away because she was distracting all rational thought from him mind. How could she walk around her flat looking like that when she knew he was there? Was she trying to drive him mad? He focused on the wallpaper. "Can we…talk?"

"Talk?" she asked.

He chanced a glance at her. She appeared to be trying to figure out if this was some sort of game. He gave her a smile.

"Please?"

"Okay," she said, slowly, as if she wasn't entirely sure what was going on.

She sat down next to him, which was the exact spot he hoped she wouldn't choose because now she was sitting near him, looking like that, and he could smell the strawberry shampoo in her hair. She faced him, one bare leg on the sofa, knee bent, the other hanging off the side. He turned in her direction and as he did she absentmindedly brushed her hair back, exposing the side of her neck.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

"IthinkImighthaveoverreacted," he mumbled as his eyes trailed down the side of her neck.

"Sorry…what?" she asked, an amused smile creeping across her lips.

"IthinkI…um…" He shook his head to clear it. _What the hell's wrong with me? _He focused on the wallpaper over her left shoulder. "I think I might have overreacted…a tad."

"A tad?" She turned her head to see what he was looking at. "What're you-"

"Nothing. Sorry. Yes," he said, turning his attention to her eyes.

He could do this. Just focus on her eyes. Not what she's wearing…or her damp hair…or her skin…or _Bloody Hell! _He stood up.

"What're you doing?

He began pacing.

"Exercising my legs. Now, as I was saying…I think I may have overreacted."

"May have?"

He ignored her question, which he was sure would lead to an argument, which would lead to, he glanced at the broken door. Yes, anyway…

"I never meant to take away your choices or make you feel inferior. That was never my intention."

"I know," she replied, stopping him in his tracks.

"Sorry…what?"

"You were worried."

"Worried?"

"I could see that and with the break-in and all…" she trailed off.

"Yes," he said, "precisely."

He watched her, trying to work out if she was playing some kind of game, but he didn't see that. No, she was being sincere.

"I should've told you about Moriarty getting into my flat. I'm sorry."

Apologizing? Maybe she'd come round, decided not to foolishly put herself in danger.

"Right. Good."

"But…" she eyed him.

"But?"

"Could you sit down? It's kind of hard to have a conversation with someone who's pacing." He paused. Sit down? Near her? That was definitely not a good idea. "Please?"

_Oh, bloody hell._ He intended to sit in the chair. Had every intention of sitting as far from her as he could, but his body didn't want to listen. Instead, he found himself sitting back on the sofa, not as close to her as he'd been, but close enough.

"But," she continued as he tried to focus on her eyes, "That doesn't mean I'm going to let someone else make decisions for me."

"I'm not going to…" She put her hand on his and for a moment words ceased to exist. His eyes that had been doing a fine job of focusing on hers suddenly dropped their attention to her lips.

"I know you care about me." What? His eyes snapped back to hers. How…oh, right. "And…if I'm honest I…care about you too." Wait. Really? What did that mean? As a friend? More than a friend? Where the hell was John when he needed him? "But you can't be this man. The one who tries to make me do whatever he wants because I'm not that girl, all right?"

His hand shifted, not so he could feel her pulse, but her skin instead, because this wasn't a game. This was truth. Honesty. Something foreign, but with her it felt right.

"Agreed," he said, his voice lowering an octave.

"Can I…trust you?" More than a question and it was accompanied by a flicker of fear in her hazel eyes. He wanted more than anything to extinguish that flame.

"Yes," he replied because in that moment he would never hurt her, would never let anyone hurt her.

He'd fought like hell against the current that was pulling him to her, but, even a genius knew when he'd been bested. She pulled her hand away and reached into her pocket. He hadn't even realized her shorts contained pockets. She pulled the sonic out and handed it to him.

"Why?" he asked, realizing what her actions met. That she was putting her trust in him.

She wrapped her hand around his. The one holding the sonic.

"We'll go together, yeah?" she asked, giving him that distracting smile.

He gave her a smile in return.

"Together," he replied.

Her eyes lit up. He immediately committed the sight to memory. He'd rather remember her in that instant than anything else in any universe.

"Night," she replied, leaning in and kissing his cheek.

It took every ounce of willpower he contained to keep himself from reaching for her, but he maintained his composure…barely. After he watched her disappear into her room, closing the door behind, he slid her sonic into his pocket, lay down, and retired to his mind palace to gaze at the picture he tucked away.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	46. Capturing the Queen

John sat in his chair drinking the tea Mrs. Hudson offered after she came up to straighten things, which he knew was more about keeping herself busy than anything else. Sherlock spent the entire night at Rose's flat. He wasn't sure what had gone on, and some things he'd rather not know, but the police hadn't been called. He hoped that was a good sign.

The door opened and Sherlock stepped inside. John gazed around his friend, but he was alone.

"Where is she?" he asked as his flatmate closed the door.

Sherlock had been pretty adamant about not leaving her alone.

"Getting dressed."

John raised his brow.

"Dressed?"

"Yes. I took your advice and did that…compromising thing you talked about."

"Well," John smirked, "sounds like it worked out."

Sherlock crossed the room and sat down in his chair. A moment later Mrs. Hudson appeared with a cup of tea for the detective.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied.

John raised his brown again. Must have worked out VERY well. He smiled.

"What?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him.

"I'm just…glad you two are getting on so well."

"Yes." Sherlock took a drink of his tea and then glanced at John again. "We had a nice chat."

"Chat?"

"And came to an understanding."

"Is that all?"

The detective eyed him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You seem…" Happy, well, happy for Sherlock, which most people wouldn't consider happy, but he wasn't brooding, yelling, throwing things, and he'd actually thanked Mrs. Hudson. Not that he hadn't done that before, but those were usually special occasions.

"Seem what?"

"Different."

"Different?"

A knock at the downstairs door interrupted their conversation.

"I'll get it," Mrs. Hudson said, crossing the room and heading out the door.

John continued to watch his friend. A chat? That's all? No, that couldn't be all. Something happened. Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention. The door opened and Mrs. Hudson led Lestrade inside.

"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted, standing up…Hang on, was that a smile?

"Sherlock," Lestrade returned. "I've been trying to get hold of you."

"Yes, I received your texts. About the murder, correct?"

"Yes, I wanted to know if you found anything."

"I'm following up on a lead…" At that moment Rose stepped through the open door. "Hello," Sherlock said focusing his attention on her and…another smile? All right, that one John half expected.

"Morning…again," Rose said, returning his smile as she handed him…his scarf? "Found this on my sofa. Yours, yeah?"

"Yes." Sherlock took the offered scarf. "Thank you."

John, like Lestrade, gazed from Sherlock to Rose. Yes, something definitely changed. A chat? There's no way all that was from a chat. John stood up.

"Morning," he greeted.

Rose looked at him and seemed to realize there were other people in the room.

"Morning, John," she greeted and then turned to Lestrade. "Hello."

"Morning," he replied as if he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Then he turned to Sherlock who was watching Rose. "Left that at her flat?"

Sherlock turned to Lestrade and then glanced at the scarf in his hand.

"Yes."

"On the sofa?"

Sherlock cleared his throat dawning a bit of that clinical detachment. He tossed the scarf on the chair.

"Yes," he replied. "As I was saying I'm following up on a lead."

Lestrade smirked, but went with the topic shift.

"Care to share this lead?"

"Not at the moment, but I'll fill you in later."

"It looks like they're going to be a while," Rose said.

John turned his attention from Sherlock and Lestrade to her.

"Most likely," he replied.

Lestrade was starting to argue with Sherlock and that usually lasted for a good ten to twenty minutes, sometimes longer. John glanced at Rose. He wanted to ask her what went on between the two of them, but he wasn't sure if it was his place. There were things she didn't know about Sherlock though. At least, not unless his friend told her, but he doubted that. Sherlock wasn't exactly an open book. Not even close.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked.

"Sorry?" he inquired, thinking he must have missed something.

"If they're going to take a while I thought I'd grab a bite at the shop around the corner."

"Oh…sure."

He grabbed his coat and pulled it on. Sherlock glanced at them. Rose gave him a smile.

"Just going to pop around the corner to grab a bite."

"I'll take a coffee, two sugars," the detective said and then, as an afterthought, "If you don't mind."

John paused, staring at his friend in shock. _If you don't mind? _Had he actually said that? Lestrade was also giving Sherlock a _did I just hear what I think I heard _look.

"Of course not," Rose replied as she headed out the door.

John followed, glancing at the detective who had fallen back into his argument with Lestrade. He shook his head as he trailed her down the stairs and out the front door. She laced her arm through his as they started down the road.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before curiosity got the better of him.

"So…you two had a chat last night?" he asked.

She glanced at him, giving him a smile.

"Yeah…and I wanted to thank you," she replied.

"Thank me?"

"Oh, come on, I know you're the one who talked to him. He was being a self-righteous git and then suddenly he wants to talk." She laughed. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened."

"Right. Well. I might've said a thing or two," John said, giving her a smile, glad that someone finally noticed he was the one who talked sense into his friend, who, for a genius, could be a real idiot sometimes.

"You're a good friend."

"Yes…I always thought so."

She laughed, giving him a playful shake and that's when everything changed. He felt the blow to the back of his head and went down, hard. _What the hell?_ Rose screamed, but in a startled, surprised way.

"Get off me," she yelled.

_Rose! _He pushed himself up, his hand going to the back of his head. It was moist. Blood, but that was something to think about later. He heard a door slid open. Van door most likely. He looked toward the noise, but everything was blurry.

"ROSE!" he yelled, taking a step and stumbling.

"Get off." She growled. "John!"

She was more angry than scared. He shook his head. His sight cleared, but his head began to throb. He ignored the pain, focusing on the two men in ski masks who were dragging Rose into a black van. He ran toward them.

"Tell him not to give it up!" she yelled, struggling with the men.

He made it to the door. She could tell him herself because there was no way in hell he was going to let them take her.

"Let her go!" he insisted, trying to climb inside after them.

One of the men kicked him. The man's booted foot connected with John's face. He stumbled back, landing on the road. The door slid closed. He scrambled to his feet, but the van raced down the street before he was up. _No! Oh, God no! _He ran after it a few feet before he realized how futile that was. He bent over, breathing hard, the image of her struggling with the two men still fresh in his mind.

_Sherlock! _He turned around and ran back to the flat. Those men must be working for Moriarty. They had to find her before he enacted whatever twisted plan he had in store for her.

He reached the building in record time and flew through the front door, not even stopping to throw it shut before racing up the stairs. Lestrade and Sherlock were still locked in their argument, but the moment he ran inside silence fell over the flat.

"What the hell happened?" Lestrade asked.

John knew he was in a state. The back of his head throbbed and the right side of his face burned with pain where he'd been kicked, but he focused on Sherlock.

"He took her," John revealed.

Panic flashed through his friend's eyes, taking John by surprise. He'd seen fear back at Baskerville, but this…this was different.

"Show me," Sherlock insisted, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

"They're gone," John said, racing after his friend.

Sherlock ignored him and bolted out the door.

"Sherlock!" He ran after his flatmate and finally managed to catch up, but only because his friend slowed down, seeming to realize he didn't know where he was going. "It was over here," John said, leading Sherlock to the scene. "But they're gone, like I said."

Sherlock examined the scene for a few minutes, during which Lestrade caught up to them. The detective finally seemed to give up and advanced on John.

"Tell me what happened," Sherlock demanded.

"We were walking and someone hit me from behind," John explained, indicating the wound on his head.

"You should get that looked at," Lestrade interrupted.

"Shut up, Lestrade," Sherlock yelled before turning back to John. "And then what happened?"

"I went down, didn't see what happened next, but I heard her scream." Sherlock's brows drew together. Anger. John had seen that before. "I stood up and saw them dragging her into a black van."

"They?"

"Two men wearing ski masks."

"Can you describe them?" Lestrade asked.

John watched his friend shoot the inspector a _shut the hell up or I'm going to deck you _look. One reserved for occasions when he was having a particularly hard time controlling himself, rare, but John had seen it before.

"I made it to the van, but one of them kicked me hard enough to knock me back. By the time I got up they took off."

"Is there anything you remember? Anything significant?"

"About?"

"The van, the men, anything?"

"No. It was a black panel van and as I said the men were wearing ski masks."

Sherlock began to pace.

"Black panel van. What year?" the detective asked.

"I don't know. Might have been ten years old, maybe less," John replied.

Sherlock growled in frustration.

"There's something else," John said, not sure if he should repeat it, but it seemed important to her.

"What?" Sherlock asked, focusing his full attention on John as if his next words were the difference between life and death.

"She…she said, tell him not to give up."

"Not to give up?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock got a look that usually meant he was trying to work something out.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Tell him not to give up? Why would she…Oh!" Sherlock smiled.

"Oh?" John and Lestrade asked at the same time.

"Don't you see?" he asked, looking at them. "No, you wouldn't. You don't know about it. She didn't want them to know, but she wanted to make sure I knew, but, oh, that was clever."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, confused.

"It was a message. For me."

"A message?"

"She didn't say tell him not to give up. She said tell him not to give _it _up."

"It?"

Sherlock pulled something from his pocket. Her sonic! He had it? Why did he have it?

"This is what she meant."

Lestrade leaned over and looked at it.

"What is that?" the inspector asked.

"Haven't you ever seen a screwdriver before?" Sherlock asked, giving Lestrade a smile.

"That's a screwdriver?" the inspector asked in a _there's no way that's a screwdriver _voice.

Sherlock flipped the sonic in the air, caught it, and then slipped it back in his pocket.

"Now we wait," Sherlock said.

"Wait for what?" John asked.

"Once he realizes she doesn't have it he'll call."

"He?" Lestrade asked.

"Moriarty," Sherlock replied, glancing at the inspector.

"How can you be so sure?" John inquired.

"Because I have something he wants."

"Hang on," Lestrade interrupted. "Moriarty? But he's dead. You said you watched him commit suicide."

"And John watched me jump off a building."

"You think he'll trade for her?" John asked, bringing the topic back to the present situation.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Why?" Lestrade glanced at the pocket Sherlock had slipped it into. "What is it and don't give me any of that _it's a screwdriver _nonsense."

"In the wrong hands it's capable of being the most powerful weapon on Earth."

"What? And you're just going to hand it over to that psychopath?"

"We can't let him kill her," John insisted, even though the thought of Moriarty getting his hands on her sonic…if Sherlock was right, and he knew his friend wouldn't have said that if it wasn't true…was terrifying.

"Still, I can't let you-"

"Come, John," Sherlock said, running down the street before Lestrade could finish his thought. "Don't worry inspector. I have a plan," he shot back.

John followed his friend around the corner and into the nearest cab. A plan? Instead of making him feel better, the idea of Sherlock having a plan made John's brow draw together in worry. Sometimes his friend's plans tended to go a little…sideways. Well, he'd definitely need to retrieve his gun from the flat.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	47. Plans

Moriarty read the text, a smile creeping across his face. The queen had been captured. The game had begun. After he saw to her accommodations he'd make his next move. Informing the king of the stakes.

"If I had to guess I'd say she's on her way," the man said.

"She should be arriving any minute," Moriarty replied.

"I'll take that as my cue," the man said, turning to head for the door.

"You don't want to see her?"

After everything the man told him, their past together, Moriarty expected him to want a front row seat. Why the hell was he leaving? It didn't make sense.

"Rose and I will have our time together. I assure you, but not just yet."

If he wasn't going to stick around Moriarty needed something to connect them. A name would be good. Something she'd recognize.

"You still haven't given me your name."

"My name?" the man asked, turning back.

"Yes."

"What's in a name? I've had dozens."

Moriarty resisted the urge to yell at him. They had to get along…for now. At least until Sherlock was out of the picture, not that he couldn't handle the detective on his own, but two psychopaths were better than one.

"I can understand the draw of not having one, but it's a bit tedious. Don't you think?"

He seemed to consider Moriarty's words.

"Foreman. Gatri Foreman."

"Gatri? That's rather odd."

"It's from a name given to me."

"By who?"

"An old friend," he replied before stepping out the door.

Moriarty sat down in one of the only two chairs in the room. He picked up his tea and took a drink. Ms. Tyler would be arriving soon. It wouldn't be long now. Sherlock would be the first to go and this time there wouldn't be any mistakes. No rising from the dead.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	48. Your Move

Sherlock stared at the monitor. It was beautiful! He'd never seen anything like it. The simplicity, but at the same time, complexity of the device. The door opened. He glanced up as Molly entered the lab. He returned his attention to the image.

"X-raying another phone?" she asked, jokingly as she crossed the room.

She'd already detained them. Made them wait while she bandaged John's head.

"No, it's…um…a screwdriver," John replied.

"A what?" she asked, coming around the table and looking at the monitor.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. They didn't have time for this.

"She called it a screwdriver."

Sherlock stood up and pulled the device out of the x-ray machine.

"Sonic screwdriver," he corrected.

"A sonic what?" she asked looking at the device in Sherlock's hand.

"Screwdriver, Molly," Sherlock snapped. "Sonic screwdriver!"

"Sorry," John apologized shooting the detective a glare. "He's a bit upset."

Sherlock began to carefully pry off the casing.

"Upset?" Molly asked.

"I'm not upset, John. I don't get upset," Sherlock snapped.

"What happened?" she asked.

She hadn't asked before, probably assumed it had something to do with one of their cases and Sherlock had been completely fine letting her think that. Now, John had to go and explain everything. They really didn't have time for explanations.

"It's Rose," John said, walking around the table and leading Molly a few feet away. "She's been taken."

"Taken? By who?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock replied as the casing snapped open. "There!"

"Moriarty?" A bit of fear creeping into her voice. "But he's dead."

"Apparently not," John said.

Sherlock carefully pulled the wires out enough to examine them. He glanced from the image on the screen and then back to the device. He needed to make the sonic inoperable, but without that being apparent.

"Why would he take her?" Molly asked.

"To exchange her for this," Sherlock replied, focusing on the wires, trying to decide which one to remove first.

"What is it?"

"In Moriarty's hands, a weapon."

He grabbed the first wire and pulled. It popped out with an electrical snap.

"And what're you doing?" John asked.

Sherlock pushed the button on the sonic. It created a warbling sound and then the x-ray machine sparked. Smoke curled out of the back.

"What'd you do?" Molly yelled.

"Sorry about that," Sherlock said, without glancing at her.

He grabbed the next wire and pulled. Another electrical snap.

"I'm rendering the device inoperable," Sherlock explained.

"And you know what you're doing?" John asked.

"I have the x-ray."

Sherlock indicated the image on the screen. Wondering, for the millionth time, why people asked stupid questions.

"But you said you haven't seen anything like it."

"I know what I'm doing, John."

Another electrical snap. He pushed the button, but nothing happened.

"See," Sherlock continued. "No explosions."

"Hang on, was that a possibility?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at his friend. Must have forgot to mention that, but it was such a minute detail.

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No. I'm fairly sure I'd remember that."

"Oh, well, it all worked out."

Sherlock's mobile chimed. He reached into his pocket as he stood up. Blocked number. Had to be him. He answered.

"Moriarty," Sherlock greeted.

"Awww, you guessed it. Oh, well, so much for surprises. Hello."

"Where is she?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

Sherlock hadn't felt the urge to kill someone as strongly as he felt it at that moment.

"Do you have it?" Moriarty continued.

"I can get it," Sherlock replied, not wanting his nemesis to know he already possessed the device.

"Good. You have four hours to get it to me or she dies."

"Where?"

"As I said, that's for you to find out."

"How the hell am I going to do that?"

"Temper, temper, Sherlock. I don't think I've ever heard you so…angry. I kind of like it. This new side of you. It's quite…endearing." The detective was gripping the sonic hard enough to feel the metal cutting into his hand. "I left you clues all you have to do is follow them. You know the song, _over the river and through the woods…_" Moriarty paused. "And don't forget the…what did he call it again…sonic, that's right, sonic screwdriver. Strange name don't you think?"

"He? He who?"

The line went dead and Sherlock was left without an answer. Someone told Moriarty about the device. Who? And how could they possibly know about it? The only people who knew about it were himself and John. Lestrade and Molly knew now, but the inspector didn't even know Moriarty was alive until today and he would never tell him anything. Mycroft had seen it when she rescued him, which meant Moriarty had seen it to, but he knew what it was called and Mycroft hadn't known that until later.

If Rose was to be believed, and he did believe her, she was from an alternate version of Earth. No one else could know about it…unless…could someone else have come here the same way she did? Through one of those cracks _in the skin of the universe. _She said people had been disappearing. Maybe one or all of them wound up there. It made sense. It was completely insane, but it made sense. When you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be true. She wasn't the only one there from her Earth.

"Are you planning on filling me in?" John asked, bringing Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"We have four hours," the detective replied, pocketing his phone.

"Four hours?"

"Four hours to work out where she is and deliver the device."

John didn't ask what would happen if they didn't deliver the device. Sherlock was sure he already knew the answer.

"And how are we supposed to figure out where she is?" John asked.

"He said he left clues," Sherlock replied slipped on his coat.

"Do you need any help?" Molly asked.

"No," the detective replied as he reached the door and then on second thought turned back. "Thank you, Molly."

He caught her perplexed look before he walked out the door. He heard John follow, but that was in the background. Moriarty said he left clues so they must be in Rose's flat. _Over the river and through the woods…_he'd heard the song, but what did they have to do with…the jacket! Of course. Red, a bit like a cape. Add that to Moriarty's fairytale fetish. Little Red Riding Hood. Grandmother. Wherever she was had to do with the word grandmother or someone's grandmother. Then there was the lipstick. John hailed a cab and he slid into the seat, pulling out his phone and began cross referencing the word grandmother with lipstick. If that didn't work he'd have to run an analysis, but that would be the next step.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	49. History

Moriarty pocketed his mobile as he stepped back into the warehouse. Rose was sitting in one of the two chairs looking murderous. He smiled, knowing how much she'd love to rip his heart out. Only, the gun trained on her kept her from attacking him.

"Ready for our chat?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

"He'll never give it to you," she snapped.

"Of course he will."

"He knows what it can do. He'd never let you have something like that."

"He'll do it…to save you." He leaned over, pouring another cup. "Tea?" he asked. She glared at him. "Maybe later then."

"You won't be able to use it."

"I wouldn't be so sure." He took a drink. "You see, someone's offered to show me how to use it. All those…settings."

Her eyes widened for a moment. He smiled again.

"Who?"

"A friend."

"And does this friend have a name?"

"He calls himself Gatri, but I'm fairly sure that's new."

He watched her for any indication of familiarity, but she didn't seem to recognize it.

"He's lying to you. I'm the only one who knows how to use it and there's no way in hell I'm showing you."

Her eyes were blazing. Oh, she was fun.

"Sonic screwdriver," he said. Her eyes widened for more than a moment. "Strange name, don't you think?"

"How…how do you know that?"

"My friend. He knows all about them. Knows all about you too." He leaned forward. "For a shop girl from Cardiff you really have come a long way." Oh, yes, he had her attention now.

"What does he look like?"

She didn't rattle easily. He wondered if that would make her behavior modification take longer.

"I don't want to talk about him. I'd rather talk about you. How long did you travel with The Doctor? Two years wasn't it? Two years before you were saved from falling into that…rift?...is that what it's called?...and then you were trapped on that parallel Earth."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"I told you, my friend knows all about you."

Oh, this was going to be such fun. He knew all about her. The woman who didn't exist. Only, she did exist, but not there. Parallel worlds. It was like a story, a marvelous fairytale. A young girl saved from a dreary life by a lord, lord of time in this case, who literally showed her the stars. Then tragedy struck and they were separated. Only to be reunited later, but the happy ending she expected never came. Instead her lord abandoned her. He left her behind with…well, a copy of himself. Oh, it was beautiful!

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	50. Check Mate

This chapter is written in multiple viewpoints...I know some people don't like that sort of thing, but this is the final showdown chapter and I wanted to show everyone's reactions. :)

* * *

The cab pulled up next to 221B. John got out first. Sherlock leaned toward him.

"I need you to look through her flat. See if he left anything," the detective instructed.

"And what about you?" John asked.

"I'm going to look into something. I'll meet you back here in an hour," Sherlock lied.

"An hour. Right."

John closed the door. Sherlock waited until he was halfway to the stairs then he gave the cabbie the address on his phone. A warehouse in the low rent district. It was first owned by a biscuit company called Grandmother's Best. After they went out of business it was purchased by another company that sold cosmetics. Their best selling cosmetic was the lipstick in Rose's flat.

Usually he'd take John with him, but this was Moriarty and the last thing he wanted to do was give his nemesis two hostages. It'd be easier to do this on his own.

* * *

Moriarty's phone chimed. He pulled it out and read the texts.

_He's on the move._

Moriarty smiled. He slid his phone back into his pocket. Then he stood up and offered Rose his hand.

"Come, my dear, our guest is about to arrive."

She ignored his offer.

"I'm not your dear," she snapped.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She started to struggle.

"Ah, ah, ah," he warned. "Wouldn't want to get blood all over your shirt, would you?"

She glanced at the red dot on her chest and stopped struggling. Instead she shot him a glare and he returned it with a smile.

"If he doesn't kill you I will."

"Wouldn't that be interesting?"

He led her across the room.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To our mark, have to wait until everyone's in their place."

He ran over the scenario in his mind again. Sherlock would arrive. Moriarty would step out with Rose. A brief exchange between him and Sherlock. Then the trade and then the bullet. Moriarty would retrieve Rose and everyone would live happily ever after. He smiled.

* * *

The cab stopped next to the warehouse. Sherlock paid and then climbed out. He stood there a moment, assessing the situation. It looked deserted, but he knew that was a ruse. Moriarty would be waiting inside, no doubt with a trap, possibly meant to kill him.

He crossed the lot and stepped inside. The first things he noticed were the two chairs, about halfway in, side table, tea. Moriarty had been there a while.

"I'm here," Sherlock called, his voice echoing in the vast room.

Footsteps and then Moriarty was visible, his hand clamped firmly around Rose's arm. She looked furious and…there was a bit of fear, but she was trying to hide it. Sherlock resisted the urge to run to her and instead pulled the sonic from his pocket as he walked forward to meet his nemesis halfway.

"Where's your pet?" Moriarty asked.

"Otherwise engaged."

"Ditched him, did you?" Moriarty smiled. "I don't think he's going to take that very well."

Sherlock stopped a few feet from his nemesis. He glanced at Rose. She appeared fine…considering. His eyes moved to the red dot on her chest before returning to Moriarty.

"I have the device."

"All in good time, my dear."

"Don't give it to him," Rose insisted, struggling with Moriarty.

"Rose don't!" Sherlock insisted.

"Yes, listen to him. I'd hate to have to shoot you while we were just getting to know each other."

* * *

Rose continued to struggle. There was no way she was going to let that psychopath get his hands on her sonic.

"Then shoot me! I don't care, just don't…" she trailed off as Moriarty pulled a gun and pointed it at Sherlock.

Moriarty glanced from Rose to Sherlock.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting this whole déjà vu feeling." He turned his attention to Rose. "Now, why don't you just stand there like a good girl while daddy has a little chat?" He turned back to Sherlock. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes, the…sonic."

Sherlock handed the device over. Rose tried to come up with a way to stop the exchange, but outside of something that might get Sherlock killed she couldn't come up with a plan.

"Who told you about it?"

"A friend."

Moriarty told her about his friend. The name wasn't familiar, but everything he knew…there were very few people who had that knowledge none of which should be there. On that Earth.

"Someone from her past?"

She glanced at Sherlock. He knew? No, figured it out. He was brilliant.

"Good. Very good, but then I expected as much."

"Where did you meet this friend?"

"Ever heard of Dr. Hastings?"

Dr. Hastings? She couldn't remember ever meeting a Dr. Hastings.

"No."

"You could say he introduced us."

"And he told you about the sonic? This friend."

"Among other things," Moriarty replied, glancing at Rose.

"He told you about her?"

"How much do you know about her, Sherlock? Really?"

"Enough."

"Enough? That's not an answer and a complete lie if I know you, and I do. She worked in a shop. Did you know that? Just a shop girl from Cardiff. Not very interesting. Until she met The Doctor. Not a doctor. The Doctor. That's his name…well, that's what he calls himself. Very few people know his real name, but that's not the interesting part." He gazed at Sherlock. "Ready?...He's an alien. From another planet."

"What?" Sherlock asked, giving Moriarty a _you're completely mental _look.

* * *

Sherlock stared at Moriarty. Mad. Completely mad. Parallel worlds were one thing…there was science to back that up…albeit unproven science, but the theories made sense. Aliens? That was an entirely different matter.

"I know. It sounds mad, doesn't it? But it's true. He's called a…" Moriarty glanced at Rose. "Time Lord, right?" She didn't betray any hint of recognition. "He has a ship."

"Let me guess…a flying saucer," Sherlock snickered.

"It travels in space, but…and here's the clincher…it travels in time too. Our girl here," Moriarty wrapped his free arm around Rose, giving her a sideways hug. Sherlock's fist clinched. "she traveled with him in space and time. He showed her the stars…literally," Moriarty released her. Wait…Sherlock glanced at Rose…traveled? No, there was no way what his nemesis was saying was true. It couldn't be. "In his TARDIS…T, A, R, D, I, S…Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

A red dot appeared on Moriarty's chest. Sherlock glanced at it, drawing the other man's attention. He looked down, then around the room. _John? _No, he had no idea where they were. Moriarty pointed the gun at Sherlock.

"Tell your pet to put down his gun," Moriarty insisted.

"He's not here. He doesn't even know about this place," Sherlock insisted.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!"

"He's not," the voice seemed to come from every direction.

PA system. Had to be.

"What're you doing?" Moriarty yelled.

He didn't ask who it was so he must know. His friend? Perhaps. Sherlock glanced at Rose and froze. She was pale, ghost white. Fear. She knew who it was too. It was either someone she never expected to hear again or hoped she never would.

"There's only room on this planet for one psychopath."

Planet? That was an odd choice of words.

"I freed you!" Moriarty shouted.

"Your mistake, not mine. I would say I'm sorry, but…we both know I'd be lying."

A gun fired and Sherlock dove for Rose. He pulled her to the ground. She was shaking. Who the hell could do that to her? He wanted to ask, but now wasn't the time. He waited for another shot. After a few seconds he realized there weren't any more coming.

"Oh, Rose," the PA system again. She lifted her head, but Sherlock was careful to make sure he was still covering her. "If you make it out of this, and we both know you will because you always manage to survive, I just want you to know, I'll be coming for you."

The front of the warehouse exploded. Sherlock pushed her down as wood splintered and flew towards them. Another explosion from the right side. They needed to get the hell out of there. He stood up, helping her to her feet. Her color had returned and she wasn't shaking, but he could see fear in her eyes.

"Come on," he said, grabbing her hand, but she stopped him.

"We can't leave it," she replied, pulling out of his grip and running over to Moriarty who was sprawled on the floor staring up at the ceiling with sightless eyes.

"Leave it," he insisted, trying to grab hold of her.

"No," she snapped, moving out of his reach and then bending down.

The sonic was still in his hand. She grabbed it and then, as if on second thought, felt for a pulse.

"He's dead."

"Good. Now, come on. Or do I have to carry you?" he growled grabbing her hand.

"I'd like to see you try," she said as they ran across the room, his eyes scanning for a way out.

The explosion had ignited a fire, not too bad at the moment, but it was growing. The front of the building…where he came in…was a mass of wood and metal. No way out there.

"I wouldn't try. I'd succeed," he replied.

He needed to talk to her about Moriarty's friend. Find out who he was and who he was to her, but that could wait. He ran towards the only fully intact wall. Window. There had to be a window somewhere. The smoke was beginning to thicken making it hard to see.

"I think there's a window over there," Rose said, pointing, as if she could read his mind.

He couldn't help smiling. She was clever.

As they neared the wall he spotted the window. They raced for it. He grabbed the latch and swung it open. Smoke began to billow out. She coughed. He helped her out and then followed. As soon as his feet hit the ground she grabbed his hand and they were running. Another explosion almost sent them tumbling, but they both managed to stay upright.

When they were a safe distance away he pulled her to a stop. He glanced back at the warehouse, the fire had spread. The building was completely engulfed in flames. She started laughing. He glanced at her and then he started laughing too.

She stopped him with a slap to his arm a moment later.

"You gave it to him," she admonished.

"You wanted me to let him kill you?" he asked.

"You know what he could've done with it?"

"Nothing much since I made sure it was inoperable before I made the trade."

"You what?" she asked, pushing the button. Nothing happened.

"You think I'd let Moriarty get his hands on a weapon like that?" he asked.

She gave him a smile and a moment later jumped into his arms, pulling him into a hug.

"You're brilliant."

He wrapped his arms around her.

"Yes, I know."

She pulled back a bit. He gazed into her eyes.

"And arrogant."

"And brilliant."

"I already said that."

"Yes, but I like hearing you say it."

She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. She was beautiful. Even after being kidnapped and escaping an exploding warehouse, maybe more so because of it. The flush of pink in her cheeks. Her wild main of blonde hair. The way she could barely escape death and laugh about it.

"You realize your danger prone activities are going to drive me mad," he said.

"It's called jeopardy friendly," she replied, laughing.

He wasn't this man. Had spent his entire life telling himself and everyone who would listen that he wasn't. He never wanted something as boring and tedious as a relationship, but this woman who rushed toward danger as if it were a game, who laughed after escaping death, she was anything, but boring. As he gazed into her hazel eyes he realized that for her he was that man.

* * *

Rose stared into his bluish yellow eyes wishing that they could stay like that forever. That all was right with the world and it was just her and Sherlock and nothing would ever come between them. Wishing she could pretend that she hadn't heard that voice in the warehouse, but she had. Wishing and pretending wouldn't alter that.

Things were about to change because she couldn't hide her past. Not anymore. He had to know the truth. The whole truth and, after seeing his reaction in the warehouse, she knew there was a very good chance he'd walk away. They leave. They always leave.

He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her close. She put her hand on his chest to stop his progression.

"I can't," she said.

There was a question in his eyes accompanied by a flicker of pain, which was replaced a moment later by that coldness he wrapped himself in. He was bringing down his defenses. She knew that look. Had seen it in someone else.

"I see," he replied in that cold, calculating voice.

He loosed his hold on her waist and she stepped back, regret lancing her heart. Regret and guilt that she was the cause of his pain, but she had to lay herself bare. He deserved that.

"I want to. I do, but there are things you don't know," she explained.

"About him. The voice in the warehouse," Sherlock deduced, still with that calculating voice.

He was still hurt and he wasn't about to let his defenses slip.

"Him…and other things."

"Tell me."

"Not here. I'll tell you when we get back."

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, not forcefully, but with purpose.

"Tell me now," he insisted.

She put her hand on his.

"This doesn't just affect us." For a moment his defenses slipped and she saw…hope?...it was gone in the next instant, the walls of ice crashing down, and she couldn't be sure it was ever there. "It affects John too."

He released her, but she could see him trying to work out what was going on. He'd find out soon enough and, most likely, she'd be on her own again. She shouldn't have let him in to begin with, but unlike Sherlock, she never did have control over that sort of thing.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	51. Parallel Worlds and Clones

John was sitting in his chair staring at the door more furious than he'd been in a long time. It'd been over two hours since Sherlock dropped him at 221B, but there was no sign of his friend, which meant he'd gone after Rose on his own.

John had sent Sherlock at least twenty texts, tried to call him five times, and not one call was picked up nor text returned. For all he knew they were both lying dead somewhere. He phoned Lestrade, but without a location there was little the police could do.

"Tea?" Mrs. Hudson asked, handing him a cup.

"Damn the tea!" John shouted and then regretted it a moment later when his landlady nearly dropped the cup. "Sorry. Sorry, Mrs. Hudson. It's just…he's an idiot. Sherlock that is."

"I understand, dear. He gets that way. I know."

The door opened and Sherlock stepped inside followed by Rose. John shot up from his chair, eyeing the detective.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Out," Sherlock replied, untying his scarf and then slipping out of his coat.

"Out?"

"You know where I was, John."

Sherlock tossed his coat and scarf on the sofa and then flopped down in his chair. He was in a mood, but, at that moment, John didn't care.

"And you couldn't have answered one of my texts or calls?"

"I was busy."

Busy? Was he serious?

"While you were _busy_ I was left sitting here thinking you were lying dead in some building somewhere. Lestrade's got half of the police force out looking for you."

"Half?"

"Well, some."

"Some?"

"Okay, one or two, but that's not the point! You left me here to go confront Moriarty on your own…AGAIN!"

"And I succeeded," Sherlock said, gesturing at Rose as she sat down on the sofa, but without looking at her.

"You're an arse!" John fumed, returning to his seat.

"I'm just going to go now," Mrs. Hudson said, slipping out the door.

"Are you finished?" Sherlock asked.

John wanted to punch him. He really did, but he'd run out of steam and a glance at Rose told him something was going on.

"For now."

"Good," Sherlock said and then glanced at Rose for the first time since they walked in. "Well?"

"Hang on," John said. "Is someone going to tell me what happened?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I worked out where she was being held. A warehouse in the low rent district. I met with Moriarty to make the exchange. He was shot. There were two explosions. We escaped. There. Happy?"

He was definitely in a mood.

"He was shot? By who?"

"Some friend of his. Never caught the name, but he appeared to know her quite well," Sherlock gestured at Rose.

Her? Something must have happened between them. That would account for his mood, depending on what happened.

"Who was it?" John asked.

She fidgeted. There was something different about her. Something in her eyes. Fear. Was it from their escape? Or this other person?

"James," she revealed.

Sherlock bolted to a sitting position. He focused his calculation gaze on her.

"You said he died," the detective accused.

"He did…at least, I thought he did." She sighed and John could tell she really didn't want to talk about it, but she plunged ahead anyway, focusing her attention on anything other than the two men in the room. "There was an accident in one of the outside buildings. Torchwood has these side buildings that they use for putting together machines that are too big to work on in the labs or for experiments that might have a tendency to become unstable."

"What sort of experiments?" Sherlock asked.

"One of the ones I worked on was a Dimension Cannon."

"Dimension cannon?" John asked wondering what the hell that was. It sounded very…science fiction.

"It's basically this device that can allow someone to travel between dimension."

"Dimension?"

VERY science fiction.

"Between parallel worlds," Sherlock deduced.

"Exactly," she said.

John eyed Sherlock. He didn't believe her…did he? No, he couldn't.

"Anyway, James was working on one of his experiments and something happened. I'm not sure if it became unstable or if he wired something wrong, but there was an explosion. The entire building was destroyed."

Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her.

"Was his body recovered?" Sherlock asked.

John shot him a glare, but the detective ignored him.

"There wasn't even enough left for identification. Later we discovered that there were three techs missing too, but there was no way to tell who was who."

John moved to the sofa and took her hand. She kept her eyes averted, but she didn't resist his attempt to comfort her. He looked at Sherlock who glanced at their hands and then back to her without betraying any hint of emotion. What the hell happened between them?

"I thought he was dead. We all did. Otherwise…"

"You would've looked for him," Sherlock said.

"Yes."

"And this is the man the Doctor left you with?"

She caught his eye and from John's vantage point he could see the pain and loss in her eyes…and something else…guilt?

"No."

"No?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"That man…the one in the warehouse…the one who killed Moriarty…that wasn't James. At least, not the one I knew. He would never do that. Kill someone like that."

"Moriarty was holding you hostage."

"I know, but-"

"And pointing a gun at me."

"Yes, but-"

"And he had someone else training a gun on you. He wasn't an innocent victim."

"You don't understand!" she yelled, obviously frustrated by his interruptions, which, John knew, was Sherlock's way of getting to the truth. "He would've given him a chance. One chance. That's what the Doctor did. One chance to change their mind. To do the right thing."

"The Doctor? I thought we were talking about James?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes…no…we are, but they're the same."

"The same person?"

"Yes, but not like you think."

"You said James was his twin."

"Because I didn't think you would believe the truth."

"And what's the truth?"

She averted her gaze.

"James is…a clone. I guess. In a way."

"A clone?" John asked. Other dimensions and now human clones? Part of him thought she was mad, but another part believed her or maybe wanted to believe her.

"Basically. Yes."

"A clone of this doctor?" Sherlock asked.

"The Doctor and Donna."

"Donna? Who's that?"

"She traveled with him."

"I thought you traveled with him."

"I did, but after we were separated he traveled with her."

"Hang on," John interrupted. "While you were trapped he found someone else to travel with him?"

"Yes, but its fine. I didn't want him to be alone."

No, that wasn't fine. That was anything, but fine. She had been trapped and instead of finding a way to rescue her this bloody doctor went off and found someone else. John's free hand clenched into a fist and he would've liked nothing better than to punch the Doctor in the face.

"Is that why he left you with James? Because he found someone else?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock!" John snapped.

What the hell was he thinking?

Rose glared at the detective.

"No, it wasn't like that. He couldn't take James with him."

"Because he didn't trust him," Sherlock replied.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he did something that went against everything The Doctor stood for."

"What exactly did he do?"

Rose sighed, as if resigned. John thought about ending the discussion there, but one glance at Sherlock told him the detective wouldn't let this go.

"I'll tell you, but there are some things I need to clear up first. Things you need to know to understand. If you understand. You're probably going to think I'm completely mental. I would if I hadn't lived through it."

John was beginning to worry about her. She'd already been through a lot and now Sherlock was pushing her for answers. Answers that were obviously hard for her to give.

"Why don't you take a minute while I get you a cuppa?"

She nodded, but didn't reply. He stood up and headed into the kitchen, shooting his flatmate a warning glare before leaving the room. He wasn't sure what went on between them, but Sherlock had his defenses up, which could turn him into a real prick.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	52. Truth

One more chapter to go! And then it's on to part 2. :)

* * *

Sherlock tried to watch her with that clinical detachment that he'd always relied on, but his heart, that horrid thing that had always bowed to the will of his mind was now battling for control. Anger covering rejection, but he tried to keep the barriers in place. The ones that he used to keep those awful feelings under control.

He went over everything she'd revealed so far. Piecing it together like a puzzle to keep his mind in control. James had been working on an experiment. Possibly unstable. An explosion, massive enough to destroy an entire building. Three bodies. Three lab techs. But James was here. Which meant he traveled, as she had done, through a crack in the universe. Then there were other cracks. People disappearing. The explosion or the experiment or both must have caused the cracks to appear.

John returned with her tea. Sherlock waited impatiently as she took a drink and then seemed to consider her words before she spoke. She caught his eye. Calmer, but there was still fear in them. He tried to ignore it and the way his dreadful heart tugged at him.

"Everything I told you," she looked at John, "both of you, is true, but not the whole truth." She turned back to Sherlock. "I was nineteen when I met the Doctor. Working in a shop in Cardiff. I was attacked and he did save my life."

"Attacked by whom?" Sherlock asked.

"Shop dummies."

"What? Like the ones in the shop windows?" John asked.

"Yeah. They were being controlled by…someone else."

"Remote control," Sherlock deduced.

"Basically, yeah."

Controlling shop dummies and using them to attack people. He wasn't sure who would go to the trouble of all that, but it made sense. Someone must have removed the original dummies and put the remote control ones in their place.

"Anyway," Rose continued. "He pulled me out of there before they could kill me, which, I'm pretty sure they would've done if he hadn't shown up when he did. Then he shoved me out of the building and told me to run."

"Run?" John asked. "Why?"

"He was going to blow up the building."

"An entire building?"

"There wasn't anyone inside and it was the only way he could stop them, but that was before he realized it wasn't just the dummies in that shop."

This doctor didn't sound very stable. Blowing up an entire building to stop remote controlled shop dummies?

"Why didn't he find the source?" Sherlock asked.

Rose's eyes widened for a second.

"The source?"

"Whoever was controlling them as opposed to blowing up an entire building."

"Oh, well, he did, eventually. He was looking for a transmitter. I helped him find it and shut it down."

"And he asked you to travel with him?"

"Yes. I almost didn't go. I mean, remote controlled shop dummies. It was mental."

She laughed, but it was more nervous than anything else.

"Then why did you?" the detective inquired.

"For nineteen years nothing happened then I met the Doctor." She glanced at John. "You know what mean, don't you?"

John gazed at Sherlock and then back to her.

"I suppose I do."

She'd been bored. For nineteen years. She was clever. More clever than she let on and she'd been stuck in a shop. He almost smiled, but pulled it back before it could take form. He needed to be detached. Read her as she revealed her past. He couldn't do that if he got sentimental. Damn these hateful emotions!

"Is that what he does? This doctor. Saves people."

"He's a lot like you. We'd wind up in some place where people were disappearing or something else was happening and he'd work out what was going on, find out who was responsible, and stop it."

"By blowing up buildings?" Sherlock shot.

He didn't mean for it to come out in such a snide way, but he didn't like the look in her eyes when she talked about this doctor. Especially after everything he'd done to her. Leaving her with a psychopath.

She glared at him.

"No, he always tried to solve things peacefully."

"According to John you went into a battle with him. How is that peaceful?"

"He didn't choose to start the battle and they'd already captured us and taken us aboard their ship."

"They captured you before the battle started?"

"No. I mean, I wasn't there when it started, but they were already killing people so if they hadn't captured us and taken us aboard their ship the Doctor would've still gone after them."

"Where were you?"

"I was using the Dimension Cannon to find him."

"So, you were captured right after you found him?"

"Yes, but that wasn't his fault."

She kept saying it wasn't The Doctor's fault, but it seemed to Sherlock that he put her in constant danger.

"Did this happen a lot?" he asked.

"What?" she inquired.

"Being captured? Battles?"

"No. Not really. I mean, I was captured a few time, but it wasn't his fault. It's not like he planned it and he always saved me."

Again with the _wasn't his fault_.

"So, you traveled with him, he put you in danger, and then he saved you?" Sherlock asked.

Sounded to him that this doctor got his jollies off of making her idolize him by constantly saving her. How could he do that to her? Put her in danger just so he could save her and she'd give him her admiration? His fist clinched involuntarily.

"It wasn't like that," she insisted.

"So, you weren't in danger?" Sherlock asked.

"There was danger. I mean, there's always danger, but it wasn't his fault."

"Was he the one who took you to these dangerous places?"

"Well, yeah, but it was usually by accident."

"Accident?"

"He'd be aiming for one place…like Barcelona…and we'd wind up somewhere else. He said it was the TARDIS and-"

"TARDIS?" Sherlock asked.

_T, A, R, D, I, S, Time And Relative Dimension In Space._

Her eyes widened as if she said something she shouldn't have.

"Was Moriarty telling the truth?" he asked, as his rational mind screamed at him that it couldn't be the true. A ship that travels in space and time. An alien. It was ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous!

"Yes," she replied, looking away as fear flooded her eyes.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be. Absolutely, positively mad! He already knew Moriarty was insane so hearing him say something like that didn't really surprise Sherlock, but Rose. She wasn't like him. Of course it wasn't true. Couldn't be true, but she believed it was.

He closed his eyes. Aliens. A ship that travels in space and time. Time. It was...odd. He opened them and focused on her.

John was looking between the two as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. He ignored his friend and focused on her.

"So, the TARDIS is a ship?" he asked.

She relaxed a little. Slight slouching of the shoulders. Her hands unclenched.

"Yes."

"And it can travel in space and time?"

"Sorry…what?" John asked, eyeing Sherlock, but he continued to ignore his friend.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I'm not sure. He never fully explained it to me, but when I first met him he had a tendency to think most people were idiots." Sherlock almost smile, but stopped himself. "He would just say _It's all very timey wimey _and leave it at that, but basically the TARDIS dematerializes from one place or time and rematerializes in another. It makes a sort of whooshing sound."

"Are there a lot of these space and time travel ships where you're from?"

"No, his is the only one left."

"So, there were others?"

"Yes, but not on Earth."

And there it was. The second absurd part of Moriarty's ludicrous story.

"And he's an alien. This doctor," Sherlock said.

"Sorry?" John asked again, giving Sherlock a _I think you both need to be sedated _look.

"Yes," she replied.

"Time Lord?" the detective inquired.

"The last Time Lord."

"Last?"

"All of his people died. That's one of the reasons I traveled with him. He was alone and…that wasn't right."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes…barely. Sentiment. He loathed sentiment. He absolutely, positively wasn't feeling that for her.

"What happened to the other Time Lords?" he asked.

"Hang on," John interrupted. "Are we seriously having a conversation about aliens and space ships?"

"Space ships that also travel in time," Sherlock pointed out.

"Have you both gone mental?"

"Whether you believe it or not doesn't make it any less true," Rose said.

"Aliens?" John eyed Sherlock. "You don't believe this do you?"

"I haven't decided."

"Sorry…what?" John asked.

"Do you want to leave?" the detective inquired.

It was the word time that had drawn him in. Not a time machine. A ship that traveled in both space and time. Time. It was...odd. Out of place. He had the same feeling he got when he decided to take the Baskerville case. The word Hound, not dog, Hound. It was out of place just as the word time was out of place here. There was something to this.

"Well…I…" John trailed off.

No, he wasn't going to leave.

"Then kindly refrain from interrupting," Sherlock replied. "Now," he turned back to Rose, "you were about to tell us what happened to the others."

"There was a war and he was the only survivor."

The only survivor? He either ran, was somehow involved in ending the war, or lucky and Sherlock didn't believe in luck.

"That must have been some war," John said.

Sherlock shot him a glare.

"You met him after that?" the detective asked, turning his attention back to her.

"Yes."

"And you traveled with him," Sherlock said. She nodded. "Then you were separated? Moriarty said you almost fell into something called a rift?"

"There was a battle-"

"Another one?" John cut in.

Sherlock eyed him, but not as harshly. There seemed to be a pattern. The Doctor. Danger. Battles. Saving her. No wonder she ran toward danger. This doctor taught her that. She was so used to doing it with him that it became second nature.

"The only way to stop it was to open the rift to send both armies into the void."

"The void?" John asked.

"It's the place between parallel worlds. The Doctor called it hell. I helped him open it and it sucked all of them in. I slipped and almost went in too, but my dad saved me. Only to do it he had to take me to a parallel world."

"So, you were stuck on a parallel world like this one and The Doctor was left on the other?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"But you managed to get back to him and there was another war?" She nodded. "And you were captured?" Another nod. "And where does James come in?"

"We'd been captured, like I said. Me, the Doctor, Jack, and Donna. The TARDIS was taken aboard the other ship and when we went out Donna stayed inside. The Daleks, that's who we were fighting against, they tried to destroy the TARDIS with Donna inside only something happened. The Doctor called it a Human Biological Meta-Crisis."

"Human Biological Meta-Crisis?" Sherlock asked.

"It takes DNA from two people. In this case the Doctor and Donna and basically creates a clone."

"So, James isn't just the Doctor's clone he's Donna's as well."

"In a way, but I think because the Doctor is a Time Lord his DNA overpowered Donna's."

"Hang on," John said. "You're saying that James is a combination of two different species?"

"Yes, but Time Lords and Humans are a lot alike. I didn't even know the Doctor was an alien until he told me."

"So," Sherlock said, eyeing John and then turned his attention to Rose. "James looks like the Doctor."

"Exactly like the Doctor. Or, at least, how he looked then and he has all of the Doctor's memories up to the point he was created."

Then?

"What do you mean how he looked then?" Sherlock asked.

"Time Lords don't die like humans. If they get shot or anything like that they regenerate."

"Regenerate?" John asked.

"Every cell in their body repairs, but by doing that they change."

"They can repair the cells in their bodies?"

"By regenerating."

"So, they can't die?"

"They can die, but not as easily. If they died too quickly they wouldn't regenerate. Or if they were killed while they were regenerating."

"What do you mean _change_?" Sherlock asked, more interested in that than the regeneration…at the moment.

"It's almost like they become someone else. I was with the Doctor when he regenerated and he looked completely different. I actually thought he was someone else. That someone had taken the Doctor and put someone else in his place. Even his personality was different."

"And this happened while you were traveling with him?"

"Yes."

An alien, but not in the little green men sense. An alien who appeared to be human, but had obvious internal differences. He had a high intelligence, or, at least, he believed that he did, which was apparent in Rose's belief. He could die, but not as easily as a human. If he were seriously injured his body repaired itself...regenerated and he became a new person with an altered personality. It was completely ludicrous and vastly interesting.

"And after this battle the Doctor dropped you and James back on that parallel world? The one you were trapped on before," Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Because James was dangerous?"

"Yes."

"What did he do that made this doctor deem him so dangerous?"

She looked away.

"He…ended the battle."

"How?" Sherlock asked, knowing there was more to the story then she wanted to reveal, but he wasn't about to let her off the hook.

She caught his eye.

"He killed them."

"The enemy?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Killed them? How many of them?" Sherlock asked.

"All of them."

"All? What…all of them?" John asked.

All of them? Twenty? Fifty? A hundred? More than a hundred?

"How many?" Sherlock inquired.

"I'm not sure. There were a lot of ships. A fleet, the Doctor called it. Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands."

"Hang on," John interrupted. "James killed thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of people and the Doctor left him with you?"

"Not people, John, aliens," Sherlock corrected.

John glanced at him.

"According to the Doctor he was like that because he was born in battle," she defended.

This doctor was more than unstable, he was dangerous and a complete idiot. Creating a clone…basically a weapon so he could win that battle and then leaving said unstable weapon for someone else to deal with. He used Rose's affection for him to pawn off something he didn't want to deal with. If he ever darkened Sherlock's doorstep the detective would…he pushed the thought aside. The Doctor wasn't real, couldn't be real, or, at least, if he was he couldn't be an alien.

But if he was…now that would be interesting, but he wasn't. Couldn't be. Sherlock's gaze fell on the chain around her neck. A key. Connected to both of them. Proof?

"You said that key was connected to James and The Doctor. What is it?"

She pulled the key out and gazed at it.

"It's a key to the TARDIS," she said.

The TARDIS?

"The Doctor's ship? What does the key do?"

"Unlocks the door."

It looked like an ordinary key. Well, there was one way to find out.

"Can I see it?"

She slipped the necklace off and handed it to him. Sherlock took the key and examined it. Still ordinary…in appearance at least, but this was far too interesting to give up that easily.

"Do you mind if I test it?" he asked.

"Test it?" she inquired.

"Scrape a bit off so I can get a closer look at the metal."

"Um…" She hesitated, looking at the key as if she might snatch it back at any minute. "If…um…if you're careful."

"Of course," he replied.

"Okay, then, go ahead."

He stood up and walked into the kitchen, pulled on a pair of gloves and then sat down in front of his microscope. He grabbed a Petri dish, shaved some metal off the side of the key, near the top, so it would still function properly. Then he placed the dish under the microscope and began examining the metal.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	53. Raspberry and Tea

This is the last chapter...for this part...or maybe that's book, either way. You can choose to stop here with this ending or...if you want more Sherlock/Rose you can start on the second book, which will include The Doctor, Amy, and Rory, but, just so you have a heads up, that one is also a Sherlock/Rose. It's called, **The Alien Encounter.**

And a little warning for anyone who needs one...it gets a bit T at the end of this chapter. :)

* * *

Sherlock finally tore his gaze away from the microscope. This was ludicrous. Absurd. And…extraordinary. The most extraordinary thing he'd ever come across. Rose was telling the truth.

He examined the metal, which was metal, but the likes of which he'd never seen. The alloys didn't exist. At least, not on Earth. Then he'd performed every test he could think of. Tried melting it with acid. That didn't work. Fire didn't work. Excessive heat didn't work. John would have to replace that pan. Tried different acids. A combination of two acids. Maybe John wouldn't notice the hole in the table. No matter what he did the metal shavings remained intact.

There was only one explanation. Her story was true. If the key was alien in origin then everything else must be true. He smiled. He'd finally found something extraordinary.

He picked up the key and stepped into the living room, prepared to tell her that he believed her, but she wasn't there. John was sitting in his usual chair, but the sofa was empty.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up from the paper he'd been reading.

"She went down to her flat. Wanted to know if you'd bring her key down when you were finished," John replied.

Sherlock headed for the door, but his flatmate stopped him.

"Look…um…" John rubbed the back of his neck, a clear indication that he had something on his mind, but he didn't feel comfortable voicing it. Sherlock sighed. "Be careful with her, all right?"

"Careful?" Sherlock asked, not entirely sure what his friend was getting at.

"She's obviously not very stable-"

Not very stable?

"What are you talking about?"

"The whole alien space ship story."

"You think she's unbalanced," Sherlock deduced.

"Well, yeah. I mean, come on, aliens, space ships."

"She was telling the truth."

"I'm sure she believes that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. All that therapy was going to his friend's head.

"No, John, she really was telling the truth."

His friend gave him a worried look.

"The key," Sherlock said, holding out the key. John gave him a _what the hell are you on _look. The detective sighed. "I examined the metal shavings. Ran every test I could think of, which was only twenty-seven because I don't have as much equipment as I'd like, but they all came back to one conclusion. The metal in this key doesn't exist…on Earth."

"Sorry…what?"

"The alloys, they don't exist. I tried everything I could think of and I couldn't destroy the metal shavings. We need a new pan by the way."

"You believe her?"

"It's the only logical conclusion."

"Aliens?" John asked, giving him a _you can't seriously believe that _look.

"Why do you insist on being so…ordinary?"

"There's un-ordinary and then there are aliens that travel in space and time."

"Precisely."

"No, I wasn't saying-"

Sherlock stepped out and closed the door before his friend could finish. Ordinary people were so insistent on things being so…ordinary. He descended the stairs and headed for her flat.

He knocked on the door and only had to wait a moment before she opened it. She was wearing another one of those tank tops, powder blue this time, and jeans. She must have showered, but her hair was dry, clipped up in the front and hanging loose at the sides and back. How long had he been testing the metal?

"You can come in…if you want," she replied.

He could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She was worried that he didn't believe her. He was about to banish that worry. He stepped inside.

"I'm returning your key," he said, handing it over after she closed the door.

"Thank you," she replied, sliding the necklace back over her head. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes," he replied. "John doesn't believe me, but he's an idiot."

"Sorry?" she asked, as if she wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"I believe you."

"Really?"

He could hear the disbelief in her voice. He gave her a smile.

"Really."

She gave him that distracting smile and in the next moment launched herself into his arms. He knew he was smiling like an idiot, but he didn't care. Besides, there wasn't anyone to see it. He wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of strawberry from her hair as it brushed his cheek.

He pulled back and gazed into her hazel eyes. She was mad and beautiful and anything, but ordinary. He would've gone his whole life without knowing her if not for an accident. An accident that put two trains on the same path.

The fear was gone from her eyes, but it had been replaced by something else. Something he'd never seen before…at least not directed at him, but he recognized the emotion because it was the same one growing inside his own heart. The voice that whispered her name. His rational mind kicked in, telling him to run. Flee before it was too late because this wasn't simply attraction this was something more. Something dangerous. A weakness he couldn't afford, but his hateful body betrayed him, refusing to listen to the pleas of his mind.

He knew it was his own fault. This betrayal. A moment of weakness when they argued that led to a kiss, but, oh, he'd thought about that kiss. Replaying it in the quiet solitude of his mind palace. He understood the chemistry of attraction. Had used it on occasion as a means to an end when he had need, but he hadn't expected the feelings she stirred inside him. The fire of her lips or the desire that burned through him whenever she was near. He'd been above such things, but with one look she scattered his resolve like so much dust.

She was compassionate and caring so unlike the man standing before her who cared more about solving the puzzle than the people involved. His mind tried to insist that someone like her could never want someone like him. That there must be another reason for her attention. He was used to the people in his life wanting something from him. The only woman he'd ever been involved with used him, but Rose wasn't like that.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, tilting her head and giving him a quizzical smile.

"I..." he didn't do this things. This talking about feeling thing. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable. He wanted to release her. To walk away, but her eyes held him in place. "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" she inquired, as if she had no idea what he was talking about, but she had to know.

"I don't feel things like other people. I don't care like they do."

"Maybe not like everyone else, but you do care and you do feel. I can see it."

He wanted to believe she was right. Believe that somehow she could see something in him that no one else could, not even himself, but he knew she was being naive. Seeing what she wanted to see and not the truth. That he was incapable of caring in the same manner as other people. He started to pull away, knowing this was wrong, but she grabbed his lapels and held him in place.

"John's right. For a genius you can be a real idiot sometimes."

Before he could protest she pulled him into a kiss. He was so surprised that he didn't respond at first and then his body took over banishing his rational mind as he began to return her kiss. Slowly, deliberately, giving in to the sensations she evoked in him. Sensations he never knew he was capable of feeling. She was impulsive and completely mad and drove him to distraction, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Her lips tasted of raspberry and tea. His hand cupped her cheek. He felt the warm flush of her skin and inwardly relished that he was the cause. No longer surprised this was happening he gave into the madness that smelled of strawberries as her hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

His arm took a firmer hold on her waist as he deepened their kiss. His body knew exactly what it wanted. Her, in that moment. He gave in to his desire for this extraordinary woman, but she didn't relax in his hold. Instead she met his invasion with a fierce determination of her own because she wasn't the sort of woman to give in. Her hand slid under his collar, fingertips grazing between his shoulder blades. A shiver ran through him and he inwardly cursed his body as he felt the smile form on her lips, but he refused to give her the upper hand because this was a battle she wouldn't win.

His hand slid down her cheek, grazing her neck with his thumb. A sigh escaped her lips. He broke their kiss with a smile of his own, catching her eye before dipping his head to her neck. As he tasted her skin her body began to relax, bending to his will.

"You are evil Sherlock Holmes," Rose said. Her voice coming out in a husky whisper, making him smile into her neck.

He pulled back while he still had the upper hand and gazed into her hazel eyes. She was smiling in that distracting way that drove him mad. She placed her hand on his chest, but not to push him away.

"I'm surprised you didn't throw me out of your flat," she said, her smile dimming at the corners.

He searched her eyes in an attempt to decipher this sudden shift.

"Why would I do that?"

"Aliens...ships that travel in space and time. Most people would've thrown me out."

"Most people are idiots."

She laughed.

"No, they just like things-"

"Ordinary," he finished. "I've always found ordinary quite boring."

"Me too," she replied before grabbing his lapels and pulling him into another kiss.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**

Look for the second part...**The Alien** **Encounter**.


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